Crazy for You
by shadysp
Summary: It really sucks when the person you're crazy for, and the person who's crazy for you, are sworn enemies. Formerly titled I Wanna Be Yours. Multi-chapter Kyman romance. T for language, drug usage, alcohol consumption, and Cartman.
1. Chapter 1

Story: Crazy for You by shadysp

Summary: Cartman and Kyle have always hated each other. Their hatred was the eighth wonder of the world, since it never wavered. It was always consistent. But when they're made to live together for a month, and grow into friends, the secrets come out and the unwavering hatred somehow turns into unwavering love. Multi-chapter.

Story Warnings: Tons of language, sexual content (lots of it), and Cartman being Cartman.

Pairings: Mostly Kyman. On the side, Stendy, Staig, Stabe, Style, Kenman, Bunny, Kenbe, Stenny, Cartbe, Candy, and Buttman.

A/N: This story is fucked. I'm fucked. Deal with it. There's drama. Lots of drama. Lots of romance. Lots of Cartman being a sensitive, submissive pussy (don't even try to pretend you didn't go 'wait what' just now). Lots of Kyle being a manly and sexy badass. Really fucked things. The title was formerly I Wanna Be Yours, derived from the Artic Monkeys song of the same name. I'm a hip hop lover, but I love me some Arctic Monkeys. It was changed because 'crazy for you' is a reference to a quote in a later chapter, and it fits this plot better. 'I Wanna Be Yours' sounds too fluffy. This is romantic and passionate, but not very fluffy. This is in Kyle's PoV. I'm aware that a house being open for the boys to live in magically is unrealistic, but this is South Park. So. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter Summary: The citizens of South Park are fed up with Cartman and Kyle's constant arguing. So they decide to force them into getting along.

Chapter Warnings: Cussing, Cartman's Jew-bashing, some homophobic slurs... basic South Park shit.

A/N: I've written this goddamn author's note five times. Every fucking time my computer erases it. So here we are again. So, I was Kyman07, and I put this story out, but I got grounded for three months and forgot my password to that account, so I made this one. Originally, I was just going to repost the two chapters I'd written to here, but in the three months I was grounded the plot of this changed a hell of a lot. The only thing that's really the same is that they get stuck living together. So, since so much changed, I completely rewrote the chappies. Here's the first. I've changed a lot about my writing style, so I hope you like it. Anyway, enjoy and R&R. :)

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"Fuck you, fatass."

"Fuck you harder, Jew."

"Fuck your slut of a mother."

"Fuck your ginger bitch of a mother."

"Don't insult my mom, Cartman!"

"Why? Does it hurt your feelings?"

As usual, the fatass and I were arguing. And it was only 8:07, according to Stan's watch. Some things never change.

I exhaled and turned to look at Cartman, willing myself to not hurt him. That smirk- I wanted to fucking cut his lips off his face so he couldn't smile anymore. I hated his smile! Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I said, "You know what? I'm going to be the bigger man. It's only eight o'clock. We have plenty of time to fight today. Let's stop now before something shitty happens and our whole days get ruined."

Cartman rolled his eyes but walked away.

Kenny stared after him, and then grinned. "I'm totally surprised that worked."

Stan 'mm-hmm'ed in agreement.

Still the same group of friends. Cartman, Kenny, Stan, and me. Even now that we're in high school. Sixteen years old, to be exact. We're proud Juniors. Cartman's still a mean asshole, just a lot more quiet and thoughtful in the last three years. No one knows why. He's not as easily provoked anymore, but only when he is does he act like a douche. He's still not tolerable, but I suppose I should be grateful. He could have gotten worse as he got older. Thank God he didn't.

Stan's dating Wendy. They're kind of like an old married couple by now, not all lovey-dovey like Bebe and Kenny, but just a unconscious team. I don't know how to explain it- they just kind of know their place together, but aren't constantly talking and making out and all that shit. Stan and I are still best friends, and even though I'm a closeted gay and he's aware, I don't feel anything for him, and he knows it, so we get along fine. He's the football quarterback- no surprise there- and all the chicks love him. I guess he's attractive. Just not my type.

Kenny's a whore. He's a nice, faithful, great friend, but a whore nonetheless. Dating Bebe Stevens has calmed down his promiscuous ways quite a bit, but he's still flirtatious with everyone, even Cartman, who he's obviously very close too. He's cute, but, again, not my type. If he was I could probably score him, since he's especially flirty with me, and I'm pretty sure he's bi, but he's my friend. It would just be plain awkward.

Cartman's hot. Plain and simple. I hate the bastard, but he's a very attractive boy. If I didn't hate him so much, and I was positive he was gay, because right now I had good reasoning to think so but no solid proof, I would totally want him. But he never gives anyone the time of day. He's a quiet being, when he's not insulting or laughing at someone. He hasn't done anything really bad since sixth grade, when he tried to murder a teacher he didn't like and ended up burning down Tom's Rhinoplasty and killing Big Gay Al. This, of course, had delighted Mr. Garrison, who had managed to get Mr. Slave back with him, so I guess Cartman kind of did some good. He did kill someone though. Not that anyone cared much.

Me? Kyle Broflovski. Still a nerdy, awkward redhead. I'm decent looking, but I'm not much into dating. Even if I was, I'm gay, and there's not many other homos in this tiny, hick town. Craig and Tweek are gay, but they're together. Butters flaunts his homosexuality, but to my knowledge he's single. And I don't like him, in a romantic way at least. Like I said, I'm pretty sure Kenny and Cartman are bi. But one is my friend, and the other is an anti-semitic asshole who I hate. So I'm alone for now.

I pursed my lips. "Cartman's a dick."

Stan smirked from where he stood beside me, gripping the straps of his backpack. "You can say that again."

Kenny giggled- he always giggles, and I don't know how he does it while still seeming manly- and said, "Cartman's a dick."

I chuckled, and Stan just rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Where'd he even go off to, anyway?" I asked after a moment, squinting at Cartman's retreating form. "The bus'll be here any minute."

"Maybe he's going home?" Stan suggested with a shrug.

"His house is that-a way," Kenny said, pointing the opposite direction.

I watched as Cartman suddenly stopped, looked up, and then turned around, a frown on his face as he headed back to us.

"He's coming back," Stan commented.

"No shit," Kenny laughed, nudging him.

Cartman reached us and sighed. "I was pissed so I stomped off, but then I realized that was a kind of stupid move, since the bus is gonna be here any second."

Kenny laughed. "Yeah it was."

"Shut up, po' boy."

Kenny grinned and leaned into Cartman, just barely half an inch taller than him. Cartman grumbled but didn't push him away.

Despite Kenny hating Cartman when we were kids, as the fat asshole became less of a fat asshole, the two grew closer over the years. I think they're kind of like brothers now. Kenny's always at Cartman's house, for instance, and they're always partners when given the choice in gym. There's been little things that could lead me to think they were together, but I've never seen them do more than hug. And I don't want Cartman pissed at me, because I know he's still capable of unimaginable evil, so I'm not about to ask.

The bus appeared, driving rather wildly down the street, and I waited until it pulled up to the sidewalk and stopped. The door opened, and Mr. Garrison, who had somehow managed to snag the position as the driver, grinned at us. He was kind of a pervert, but he was less of a dick than when we were kids, and he could be decent at times. Since Chef is dead, we go to him for advice occasionally. Most of the time he offers stupid advice, or starts telling some weird story that has nothing to do with what we were asking, but sometimes he can be useful. I stepped on after Stan and sat beside him in the fourth row from the front. Kenny and Cartman took a seat in front of us, and the brown haired boy instantly turned to look at us. He grinned crookedly, the only feature visible of his being his Chesire smile and his big brown eyes. I mean, seriously, he has huge ass eyes. They're even bigger than Butters. Only, Butters' are adorable- though I'm not attracted to him- and Cartman's just look stupid. Though they are a rather pretty shade of brown.

"Jew?" he asked in his whiny voice that he still tends to use a lot, his stupid, triangular eyebrows raising. I don't know why they're triangular. They've been since childhood. It looks so stupid. Everything about him looks stupid. "Can I copy the math homework off you?"

"Why should I let you?" I said, turning to look past Stan, out the window.

"Because I'm your friend. That what friends do."

I barked out a laugh. "Friend? Since when?"

His eyes narrowed. "Since preschool."

"We're not friends."

"Okay, fine. But can you lend me your homework? Just to be nice? Because you're a nice, caring person? Hmm?"

I rolled my eyes, but reached down to unzip my backpack from where it sat at my feet. I tugged out the homework and shoved it towards him. "Here, fatass."

"Thank you, Kahl!" he sang, grabbing it and turning around to face forward.

"Why'd you give him it?" Stan questioned, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

I shrugged. "I knew he wouldn't stop bugging me 'till I gave him it. So I did."

He nodded, his gaze drifting past my face. He smiled and waved, and I turned to see Wendy grinning suggestively at him. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes. I hadn't slept last night. I'd stayed up watching crime shows. Nerdy, I know, but that stuff interests me. Being a detective would totally be a killer job. I've never heard of a gay detective though... but whatever. I'll probably end up a lawyer. Mom seems pretty firm about me going to law school. Which is stupid. Ike is the genius. He should be the lawyer.

A moment later my eyes opened when something big and spiky hit me in the nose and fell into my lap. I looked down to see my math homework, all wadded up. I glared harshly at the back of the seat in front of me and kicked at it. "Damnit, Cartman! You wrinkled it! Why couldn't you just fucking hand me it?"

"I didn't want to lean over," his voice responded evenly. "Making it into a ball was more efficient travel for it."

"You fat fuck," I muttered angrily, pressing it against my leg and trying to smooth it out. When I was finally satisfied it was somewhat better, I carefully put it back in my backpack.

When we arrived at the school, I walked in silence with Stan, listening to Kenny and Cartman exchange small talk behind me. It wasn't interesting. Something about Kenny's 'incredible porno' and how Cartman 'totally had to see it, like, right now'. I rolled my eyes and said bye to Stan as I reached my locker, which was, sadly, four from Cartman's, since it was in alphabetical order. Timmy would have been next to me, but he had a handicap locker a few lockers down.

I fell to my knees to open mine and worked the lock, cursing when my hand slipped and I had to try again. When I finally got it open and was stuffing my shit inside, the intercom announced, "Kyle Broflovski, please report to the principal's office."

Cartman appeared behind me, startling me, and laughed. "Heh heh, you're in trouble."

"Eric Cartman, please join him."

"Fuck!"

I scowled at him as I stood, slamming my locker shut with my foot. "What'd you do this time that you somehow dragged me into?"

"Nothing!"

"Oh, yeah, like I believe that."

"No, seriously. I haven't done anything in a long time!"

I scoffed as we headed for the office. Once there, he held the door open for me. I glared at him but stepped through it anyway.

"Eric. Kyle." The secretary- some chubby brunette lady who's name I don't know- nodded at us. "Principal Williams is expecting you."

"No shit," Cartman said, rolling his eyes.

"Eric! Such language is intolerable!"

"Yeah, yeah, dumb bitch."

The secretary was at a loss for words, and I couldn't help but grin at Cartman. He smirked back.

Principal Williams appeared in the doorway and clear his throat. "Eric and Kyle. Right in here."

I followed Cartman into the room, where Williams closed the door behind us. I took a seat, and Cartman stayed standing for a moment, before hesitantly sinking down into his chair. Williams ran a hand through his greying hair and faked a smile at us. "Alright, boys. I've gotten complaints about you two. Apparently you've become disruptive."

I pointed at Cartman. "It's him, not me! I swear! Look at my record! It's clean. His is dirtier than Kenny's house."

"You've done nothing wrong," he assured me. "Your arguing has simply just became a bit of an annoyance for some of our students and teachers."

"So people are tired of us fighting?" Cartman asked, lifting a brow. He smirked. "That's lame. I'm tired of Craig being a faggy asshole, but I don't report him to the principal."

"Eric. Language."

The bell rang, almost drowning out Cartman's, "Whatever."

"But yes, people are tired of you fighting. One of your teachers especially. Mr. Ross has a solution."

"That hundred-year-old guy who sleeps all the time?" Cartman asked, leaning forward in his chair slightly.

"He's only sixty-eight. But yes, Mr. Ross. His mother just moved out of her house into a nursing home, but the house is still hers. Mr. Ross is going to let you boys live there for a while."

Cartman snorted. "Why the hell would-"

"Living together forces people to get closer," Principal Williams explained, taking a seat and swiveling slowly, hands clasped in his lap. "It will, hopefully, get you two to become friends."

"We are friends," Cartman said.

I glanced at him. "No we're not."

"Shut up, Kahl!" he whispered loudly. "I'm obviously trying to get us out of this!"

"I can hear you, Eric," Williams said, a smile tilting at his lips. He was a nice guy. Really kid friendly. Not much of a discipliner, too.

"No you can't," Cartman insisted.

Williams laughed, but then sobered. He leaned forward and looked at us in turn. "Starting next Monday, you two will live together in Mr. Ross' mother's house. It just so happens to be the first of the month on that day, so you will live there until the first of next month. We've already discussed it with your mothers, and they agree. Please, boys. Just try to get along."

"Fat chance," Cartman said. I lauged at his word choice, and he glared at me. "Shut up, Kahl."

"You'll go to school as normal. You're not required to be together constantly, but hopefully you'll be around each other enough to become friends. You're excused now, boys. You may return to class. Thank you."

Cartman stood and mocked Principal Williams as he walked away, and I hurried after him, nodding at Williams.

Fatass- though he wasn't fat anymore, but old habits die hard- turned to grin at me. "I get you all to myself, Jew. No one will hear your screams."

I laughed, but I was slightly worried. What if he did try something crazy? I ran my tongue over my teeth. "Look, if you treat me decent and leave me alone, I'll do the same. We can survive this. Okay?" I stuck my hand out, stopping in the empty hallway. He eyed it, stopping as well. He tilted his head to the side, observing my hand. I chuckled. "No, Cartman, there's not one of those shocker things on my hand."

He met my eyes and stuck his hand out, shaking it. "Okay, Kahl. Deal."

"Okay. Cool."

"Cool."

"Bye, fatass."

"Bye, Jew."

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A/N: This will be on every chappie. Mostly for me to know what I'm writing and you to know what to expect.

Next Chappie Summary: Kyle thinks about how he's going to survive living with Cartman for a month.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Kyle thinks about how he's going to survive living with Cartman for a month.  
Chapter Warnings: Cussing.  
A/N: wow i'm being good with updating. yay. hehe next chappie. enjoy.

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I held his gaze for a long, awkward moment, and then averted my eyes, dropping his hand. I glanced up again to see the smallest smile at his lips, and then he turned and walked away.

Well. That was weird.

I shrugged and walked off in the other direction, towards my reading class. Stan and Kenny are in it with me. I'm pretty sure Cartman has German first period, even though I think he's already fluent in it. Either way, it figures. Fucking Nazi.

I stepped into the class, and then mentally screamed, "Fuck!" when I realized I forgot to ask the secretary to write me a late pass. Everyone turned to look at me, and the bitch teacher, Ms. Browning, glared at me. "I hope you have a good explanation for being late to my class, Mr. Broflovski."

"Mr. Williams called me to the office," I told her, biting my lip but holding her cruel gaze. She has really ugly eyes.

"You're lucky I heard him when he called," she sneered in her nasally voice. Ugh, I'm not normally a judgmental person, but this lady is such a bitch. "Otherwise that explanation would never suffice. Next time you better have a pass, Kyle. Now take a seat and get out your book. We're on Chapter 16."

I breathed out a sigh of relief- wouldn't want to soil that perfect attendance record of mine or Mom would be pissed- and took my seat, which happened to be to Stan's right, with Kenny next to him.

"What'd Williams want?" Kenny asked, peeking over Stan to look at me.

"Some bullshit about making me and the fatass live together for a whole fucking month."

Stan froze, staring wide-eyed at his book for a moment, and then turning to look at me. "Y-you and Cartman? Living together? _Why_?"

"Williams says living together makes people get along. I think that's total bullshit. Ike and I live together and we fight constantly."

"Same with my parents," Kenny said. He grinned. "What if Cartman tries to cut off your cock or something while your sleeping?"

"What if he ties you up and makes you actually suck his balls?" Stan said, his expression so horrified it would have been funny. But it wasn't, because that was, as horrible as it was, a possibility. And, worse of all, one of the better possibilities. He could torture and kill me or something. Even if Cartman has behaved good lately, this is still the same kid who attempted exterminating Jews, and the same kid who murdered someone's parents just because they conned him out of sixteen bucks.

I frowned down at my book. "We made a deal, and hopefully he'll stay true to his word. I said I'll leave him alone if he does the same."

"Cartman? Staying true to his word?" Kenny laughed mockingly and sat back in his chair, turning away from me. "You're screwed, Ky."

"He's a prick, for sure, but he's normally good when it comes to keeping promises," I protested, slamming my palms down on the table. I was panicking a little. I was already worried enough. They didn't need to give me more ideas about my potential future.

"But he'll break them without a second thought if it benefits him," Stan reminded me, pointing his pencil at me as he spoke. "I guarantee he'll do _something_ in the month you're stuck together."

"It's only a month!"

Stan shook his head and looked down at his book again. "Whatever."

I suddenly felt as if I was being watched, and I glanced up to see Ms. Browning glaring at me from her desk.

"Sorry," I muttered, slouching down in my seat and bringing my book closer to me.

The day passed quickly. I felt Cartman's eyes on me constantly during the two classes I have with him, and I kept finding myself chewing on the inside of my mouth, a nervous tic I'd just developed today. Damnit, and I hate having sores in my mouth. They feel so weird and annoying against my tongue, and I can't do shit about them.

I hate being powerless. It's my one true weakness. I can't fucking stand it. And the shitty thing is, most of the time, I _am_ powerless. In everything. Against my mom. Against Cartman's taunting, however much it has calmed. Against_ life_.

Life is against everyone, even the most fortunate people. For me, it keeps throwing hurdles beneath my feet, and just when I think I'm running at a good pace and I can keep it up for a while, life has to be a bitch and trip me.

I didn't want to ride the bus that day. I was as jittery as Tweek, and I doubted I could stand all those fucking morons in one place, so I just walked. I sound like a goth, calling them all morons, but it's true. I can hardly stand them. I've become so cynical and miserable, but in my mind, all they focus on is the unimportant shit, and it drives me nuts. I'm not so insane that'd I'd kill them all if given the chance, but let's just say I'm leaving this fucking town as soon as I turn eighteen.

I shuffled home, my tennis shoes dragging against the ground and my hands stuffed inside the pockets of my big black coat, staring at the snow packed, dirty ground. It was totally silent in an almost eerie way. Like something bad was going to happen. It was kind of freaky, so I sped my pace and looked up, seeing my street. I accelerated into a rather panicked run, but not because I was scared of being raped or something. I wanted to make sure Mom hadn't agreed to let me live with the fatass. I was terrified, to be honest. Cartman was just such a gigantic asshole!

I mean, he used to be sociopath, and he hasn't displayed any psychotic qualities in a long time, so I guess I should be grateful, but I actually would prefer psycho Cartman over this asshole Cartman. He was such a mean, rude, intolerant dick! I'm starting to rant, but I'm serious! He got worse over the years, at least in terms of being a prick. He's hard to deal with now. He's painfully annoying. I want to kill myself to escape his irritating, still rather high pitched voice. And he never fucking shuts up!

I hate him. So much.

I stopped walking and squeezed my hands to my face, enjoying the feel of my cold fingers on my hot forehead. I'm not gonna survive this. I just- I can't. Something about him- I can't stand him!

The frustrated scream I let out just then caused a bunch of birds perched on wires far above my head to scatter, squawking loudly. I sighed, clenching my fists, and moaned, "Fuuuuuccccckkkkk."

I growled and continued home.

"I'm home," I said when I entered my house.

"Go pack," Ike said from where he sat on one of the living room's two recliners, playing on his phone and not looking up.

"What?"

"Mom's at the store. She said to tell you to go pack as soon as you got home."

I glared at my lanky, dark haired brother, who now glanced up to stare back blankly, chewing gum. He blew and popped the bubble in a sassy way, and I growled. "Fine."

The stupid Canadian pre-teen who, despite his irritating and stuck-up ways, I loved to death, smirked and watched coolly as I stomped up the stairs.

I slammed my door, knowing I'd just thrown a childish hissy fit but not really giving two shits, and snatched my ear buds off my desk. I shoved the plug into the hole in my iPod and scrolled through my playlist until I settled on a hip-hop song Kenny had convinced me to download. I'm not a big fan of rap at all, but some of the stuff is tolerable, like this song, which I've grown to love. Rap can be nice because there's so much going on, you have to kind of concentrate on deciphering the lyrics. But before you can even understand one line, the artist is already on the next.

With a smirk, I put on my rap playlist- thirteen songs that varied from old gangster hip hop to electro dance hip hop. Rapping along loudly just to be an annoying asshole for Ike, who has a deep hatred of rap, I packed all of my stuff into a large duffle bag and a medium size backpack. When I'd finished after less than an hour, I flopped down on my bed and listened as Lil Wayne (who, honestly, I don't like that much, but Kenny said I needed some Young Money on my iPod. I don't know what that means, but whatever.) rapped about hoes and money. Is that all that most guys care about? Or is it just his mentality, being a rich rapper? I didn't know anyone who cared only about riches and women. Kenny, I suppose, and Cartman is the greediest fucker I know. Maybe this town is just fucked. Or maybe _we're_ normal and the rest of society is fucked.

Ah, sometimes it's fun to be a nerd and analyze the world.

I glanced down as my phone vibrated from it's place on my chest and saw I'd received a text from Wendy. I had her number, but I never talked to her. It's only because Stan insisted I have it.

**You're living with Cartman?**

I blinked. Stan must've told her. As I'm responding, **yeah, so? **another text comes in. And then another.**_  
_**

I send it to Wendy and check the other two. The first from Stan, reading, **i told wendy sorry **and the second from Bebe- I have her number because we sort of dated in seventh grade- that said, **i heard your living with cartman. good luck babe. don't die and stay strong. luv bebe.****  
**

I send back to Stan, **its cool man **and then stare at Bebe's. I couldn't agree more. I texted back, **thanks bebe. i'll try. **

I got three new texts while I was texting Bebe. Man, I'm popular tonight! My phone's getting more action in the last five minutes than in the last month!

Stan: **everyone's worried for your mental and psychical health Kyle.**

I responded: **i know, so am i.**

Bebe: **yeah well i gotta go, i just wanted to say that. bai.**

I responded: **ok bye.**

Wendy: **Good luck, Kyle. If you need anything, Stan and I are always here. Eric's a lot better now, but he does hate you a lot. No offense, but it's true. Be careful. Anyway, I have to go. Bebe and I are shopping. Bye, Kyle. **

Wendy and Cartman are really close. It's kind of weird. They never hang out at school, but they're always at each other's houses, and they're always whispering and laughing. Stan knows not to worry because Cartman has never tried anything with her, and the two are more like brother and sister. I don't know when the hell that friendship sprouted- I think in sixth grade- but it's a strong, healthy one. I haven't seen them so much as argue in years.

I texted back, **thanks wendy. have fun. bye.**

Stan had texted me, **ya ok dinner time ttyl**

**k bye****, **I answered, my hands cramping slightly after so much texting. I hoped that was it; it was four and I wanted to go downstairs and get a snack.

Despite my wishes, though, two more texts come in. One from Kenny and one from Cartman.

I scowled and open Kenny's. I'm not sure if Kenny's keyboard really sucks ass, or if he's just lazy, but his texts are always barely coherent. Like this one, for example. **ey i ord red piza cus i got muni frm my ****job wan sum**

**speak english, **I typed back, my lips tilting up in a small smirk.

A response came a moment later and I read, **I HAVE PIZZA WANT SOME ASSWIPE**

I laughed and texted back, **sure ken. be over soon.**

Then, taking a deep breath, I opened Cartman's text.

**Hey. R drugs and beer allowed in the house.**

I sighed and answered, **since when**** do u care about rules****  
**

**Becuz, jew, you have a mega tight ass and i dont want u bitching at me if i got some ganja in the house.**

I blushed. What was ganja? Sometimes I smoked some weed with my friends, but I'd never heard of ganja. I think I'd heard a rap song blaring from Kenny's speakers once that mentioned the stuff, so I was guessing it was a drug, but I didn't know for sure and didn't want Cartman to say anything.

I texted Kenny, **yo ken what's ganja.**

**pot **came his short response mere seconds later.

**k thanks **I texted back, and then texted Cartman, **i don't want a contact high**

**KYLE IS A TIGHT ASS KYLE IS A TIGHT ASS**

I rolled my eyes. **u kno whut fuck this fatass. goodbye.**

**WAIT KYLE DON'T LEAVE ME WHATEVER SHALL I DO WITHOUT YOU**

I couldn't help but laugh at this, but nonetheless I closed out the song- now Kush by Dr. Dre which was obviously Kenny's choice but still was a good song- and pulled out my ear buds. I lay them and my cell on the bed and went downstairs.

"Mom and Dad home yet?" I asked Ike, who was squinting in the darkness at the bright little screen of his phone.

"Nope," he answered, tapping on the phone repeatedly. "Dude. I freaking hate Flappy Bird. It's so addicting."

"My friend was playing that at school one day," I said for conversation, leaning against the wall and only choking on the word 'friend', considering it had been Cartman. "He was getting pissed. It was funny."

"It's not funny. This game sucks ass."

"Stop playing then."

"Can't. Stop."

I chuckled and went into the kitchen, wandering around, peeking into the fridge and cabinets for a snack. "Why is there never any fucking food?"

"There's some corn dogs on the stove. I just made them," Ike called. "Ah, shit! Damnit, I died again! So close to a new record! Ugh!"

I shook my head and grabbed a still-warm corn dog. I went into the fridge, shook the ketchup, drizzled it along my snack, and closed it again, setting on it's shelf and closing the fridge. Taking a mouthful, I went back into the living room. Ike was glaring harshly at his phone.

I scratched at my neck and then tilted my head from side to side in an attempt to make it crack.

"Kyle, are you gay?" Ike asked suddenly.

I looked up. He paused his game, or must have, because he was staring at me. I frowned. "Yeah."

"Does that mean you're gonna start bringing guys home?"

"No, of course not!"

"Are you a virgin?"

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna top or bottom once you get in a relationship?"

"Depends."

"Okay."

"Don't tell Mom or Dad. Or anyone. It's a secret. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

I finished my corn dog and went into the kitchen to throw away the stick. It filled me up, and I wasn't starving anymore, though I was a little hungry. I could wait for dinner though.

I went up the stairs and checked my phone. Nothing. I sighed loudly and laid down, staring at the ceiling. I had a really bad feeling about living with Cartman, but still. I- I felt excited for the upcoming month. But why the fuck would I be excited? I could fucking die!

I scowled and closed my eyes tightly. I'm so confused. _Fuck everything._

* * *

A/N: Well. No Kyman yet. I'm bad at doing first person emotions. Like, I dunno, I don't like doing the thoughts of the narrator, but I need to. So I'm trying. I'm sorry. I'm just as confused as Kyle is about his feelings. Sigh. Also, South Park fanfiction is such a different atmosphere than what I used to write (Hunger Games... ew...) and I'm still transitioning. I also, like, never wrote romance, so this is a huge change. I hope I'm doing a halfway decent job. And I hope the characters are in character. That's another thing, in the HG world I never worried about OOCness, but now it's a little black pisscloud hanging over my head and pissing on me whenever I make Cartman say, "Thank you" or Kyle say, "I'm sorry, Cartman." (both which appear later in the story. heh.) So. I hope I'm doing okay. But the characters will be kind of OOC, I suppose, but I try, and things do change in the years between the age they are on the show and the age they are on this fic. So. Peace motherfucker. See you laterz.

Next Chappie Summary: Kyle continues to suffer through the weekend, dreading what Monday will bring.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Kyle continues to suffer through the weekend, dreading what Monday will bring.

Chapter Warnings: Cussing, drug and alcohol usage, and sexual themes (obviously kenny's in this chappie by those warnings haha)

A/N: idkgirl27... i love you so much. you're such a faithful reviewer, and i'm not even talking fully about this story. i see you with a nice lengthy review on every chapter of _every_ kyman or cutters story. you're just so epic haha. mistress of craziness too, thank a ton for boosting my confidence on this story, and lots of thanks and love to the other reviewers also of course :). anyway, next chappie. enjoyyyy. (yay ken's in this chapter! i love ken.) also, this chappie contains marijuana consumption. i don't do drugs. so i have little knowledge about them. sorry. yay this chappie long. i talk too much. i need to learn to keep it short and sweet. so yeah here's the story.

* * *

My phones vibrated again and I turned my head to the side and grabbed it. Kenny: **ey yhu sill cumin ovr**

**ya. **I texted back. **be there in a sec.**

Honestly, I'd forgotten about going to his house, but it seemed like a good idea. Kenny's so calm, especially compared to my over-dramatic best friend, and sometimes I'm really lucky to be friends with him.

I grabbed my phone, shoved it in my pocket, and went downstairs again. "Going to Kenny's house, Ike! I'll be back later."

"You don't fuck him, right?" Ike asked, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

"No, dumbass! Of course not! I think he's bi, but I don't like him like that."

"Okay. Do you like anyone at all? Because you really need a boyfriend. You've been single for years, man."

"I dated this hot blonde named Bebe in middle school!"

"Did you kiss her?"

"Yes."

"Did you touch her boobs?"

"No!"

"Wow. You haven't lived life if you haven't touched a chick's boobs. I've touched tons of 'em in _my_ life."

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. "Whatever. You're just a little man whore, Ike, and I'm not."

"More like a player. I'm so sexy, I can have whichever girl I want, whenever I want." He smirked at me and then looked down at his phone again as I rolled my eyes a second time and stepped out the door.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me as the cold air hit me. I really hate how cold it is here in Colorado. Sometimes I just wish it could be eighty degrees for fucking _once. _

My phone buzzed, and I reached for it. I'd forgotten my gloves, so my fingers were numb from cold and it was hard to text, but I did anyway, texting back **comin over now **to Kenny's **hry de fuk op**.

The streets were dead. No cars, no pedestrians walking. Nothing but a small, chilling wind and tiny snowflakes floating down. For old time sake, I tilted my head back and stuck my tongue out, catching a few on my tongue. I remembered that time I tried to do this, Cartman called me out, claiming Jews can't eat snow. Which is stupid as fuck!

I feel my rage building again, so I push thoughts of the fat bastard out of my mind and trudge onto Kenny's house. When I've reached it, I hopped the fence to the backyard and knocked on the door there, because the front was jammed or something and had been able to be opened in years.

Kenny opened it and grinned at me, a joint hanging out of his mouth. Through it he greeted, "Yo, waddup, Kyle!"

I followed him into the house and slammed the door with my foot, shedding my jacket and draping it over a chair. "Nothing. I'm bored and hungry."

He waved in the general direction of the kitchen table. "Pizza's right there. Bebe's in the living room. Come in there once you got your food."

"'Kay," I said, not risking grabbing a plate because there was probably all kinds of vermin in his cabinets that pissed and shitted on them. I lifted a large slice and held it with both hands, taking a huge bite and going into the living room.

I remember once, in sixth grade, Cartman and I were arguing over the past tense of shit. I said shitted, he said shat. Seriously, we argued for a week. It was the stupidest thing. In the end, it was decided that we could just say both. I still say shitted, and he still says shat, though it sounds really fucking stupid.

"Hey, Kyle!" Bebe greeted me as I sat on the broken recliner. She was sitting on the torn love seat beside Kenny, huffing a joint and wearing a tiny jean skirt and a revealing, bright pink tank top. I knew she definitely didn't wear this to school because she would've gotten suspended immediately. She looked like a slut.

A rapper who I managed to recognize as Kendrick Lamar blasted from her phone, which was sitting in her lap. Part of the reason I broke up with her in seventh grade was because she turned really ghetto and trashy, and I couldn't stand that. There was no hard feelings, and she felt the same; I was too classy for her, she just didn't want to hurt my feelings or some shit.

"Hey, Bebe," I said, watching as she blew out a large puff of smoke.

"Hey, Ky. Excited for next week?"

Earlier, when I said I was excited? I was wrong. I'm just anxious. And slightly nervous. So I said, "Not excited, in any way. Kind of... curious about what it's gonna be like."

"Cartman was texting me and saying some shit about how your 'tight Jewish ass won't allow drugs in mah house,'" Kenny noted, imitating Cartman's voice with the last part. "What's up with that, man? He said something about you not wanting a contact high, but you're probably getting one right now."

I shook my head. "I just don't trust Cartman, let alone when he's stoned. Like you, I trust. You won't try anything. But Cartman- hell, for all I know he could get really drunk, and- and try to seduce me or something," I added a breezy laugh, even though I feel a fluttering in my stomach at the thought. I'd never been around a totally wasted Cartman. Sure, I've seen him mildly drunk a few times, but never stumbling, incoherent, horny drunk.

_Is it bad that I think that'd be sexy? _I thought, and though I wanted to curse myself for thinking like this, I somehow didn't feel disgusted. Just sort of guilty. I scowled and reached for an open can of soda sitting on the coffee table.

As I was drawing it to my lips, Bebe suddenly said, "Put that down, Kyle. That's for tobacco."

I stared blankly at the can, and then cringed and set it back on the table.

Kenny laughed and slung an arm around his girlfriend, who just leaned forward and flicked her joint's ash into the ashtray. I watched the ash rain down very briefly before it pooled at the bottom of the glass tray with all the other little grey particles. "So, Kyle."

I looked at him. "Yeah?"

He tilted his head to the side in a sassy but sort of cute way and raised one of his skinny blonde brows, asking me, "You're gay, right?"

_Fuck, why is everyone confronting me on my sexuality today? _I thought angrily, scowling at him. _Of all fucking days, everyone chooses today. _Evenly, I answered, "Yes, Kenny. I'm gay."

Kenny looked down at Bebe, his deep cerulean eyes meeting her bright jade ones. Damn, the looks some couples, like Ken and Bebe, give each other. I'd love to have a relationship like that, where I could just _look_ at my man and he'd understand. Wow, 'my man' sounded really faggy. But that's just Cartman's taunting in the back of my mind.

"You're single though, right?" Bebe asked, smiling at me, as if I'm adorable or something. But I'm not. I don't get why everyone thinks I'm cute; I'm five foot eight and I have rather sharp features. How could I possibly be _cute? _I mean, I consider myself handsome, but cute is a little too far. _Butters _is cute, not me.

There's levels of attractiveness. Like I said, I'm handsome. Butters is adorable. Kenny and Cartman are hot- if you're into bad boys and fat jerks- and Stan is cute, but not in a dumb way. He just has a gentle face that instantly qualifies as cute. I don't know how to explain it.

"Kyle?" Kenny asked when he noticed I hadn't responded yet.

"Oh, yeah, I'm single. Not many other gay guys here."

"You should _totally _date Butters!" Bebe giggled, taking a long drag before continuing, "He's fucking _adorable, _and so are you, so it'd be, like, the cutest relationship _ever!"_

How she's emphasizing some of her words is making me want to punch her. There was no need to giggle after every other word, and drawing out the words 'totally', 'adorable', and 'ever' is completely retarded. Still, I said with minimum gritting of my teeth, "Thanks. But no. I don't like Butters."

"Who do you like?" Bebe asked, giving me a questioning look made irritating by a smirk at her red lips.

"No one," I answered honestly, watching as Kenny leans his head back and blows a puff of smoke up into the air.

"You need to find a man, Kyle," the blonde girl told me, pointing her blunt at me in a reprimanding way. "Time's running out for you. Older you get, the less guys'll be interested."

"I'm fine," I snapped, my eyes darting from Kenny's smoke to her twinkling emeralds. "Stop fucking smiling at me."

But she kept smiling.

"Can I have some weed?" I asked after a moment's pause, glancing at Ken. I needed to forget my worries. I felt almost overwhelmed. First I got stuck living with the biggest asshole ever, and then people started telling me what to do with my love life, and to top it all off, I was a teenager! So I was miserable and confused and horny and lonely and all kinds of fucked up shit.

Fuck, I thought only girls get lonely and depressed.

"No fair," I mumbled.

"Hmm?" Bebe hummed, bringing her reddened eyes to me.

"Nothing. Ken?"

Kenny shrugged with a toothy grin. "Ask the lady. She got the drugs, na' me."

Bebe was grinning at me again, and I groaned and said, "Bebe, may I please have some weed?"

"What, are you fucking asking your mom to pass the kosher salt?"

"Gimme some goddamn weed!"

"That's better. Here, hun."

I took the fresh joint she's handed me, slightly irked she'd called me 'hun'. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I appreciate being called stupid nicknames. But I lifted a lighter off the table and put the little stick between my lips. I clicked the lighter a few times until it ignited and then lit my joint and put the lighter down again.

"Did ya know Wendy makes Stan wear two condoms when they fuck?" Bebe asked randomly and casually.

I stared at her, my eyes wide. Through the joint between my lips, I gave a muffled screech of, "_What_?"

"Yeah, 'cause it makes his dick thicker. Apparently he has a long dick, it's just really skinny," she explained with a shrug. "Plus for protection, of course."

I kept staring at her, vaguely disturbed and awed at the same time. "And you know this, how?"

"Wendy and I are best friends. We talk about this kinda stuff." By her tone, it was an obvious fact, and I was stupid for not knowing so.

"Okay," I said, not really knowing what else to say. I stretched out my arms to the sides and then clasped them and raised them above my head.

"Practicing yoga, Ky?" Kenny asked, smirking at me.

"Gotta keep my sexy body in shape," I told him, managing not to smile but letting a playful tone accompany the teasing words.

"That sounded like something Cartman would say," Bebe commented, inspecting her nails.

"Speaking of Cartman, you know he's bi, right?" Kenny asked me, grinning suggestively. "He's pretty hot now, and he's single. You should totally ask him out."

"I hate him," I said coldly, taking a drag from the weed and sighing in relief as it finally began to do its job and my surroundings became less sharp and my thoughts less loud and booming in my head. Exhaling the smoke, I added, "I wouldn't date that fat fuck for a million bucks."

"I always thought you liked him," Bebe said.

I gaped at her. "What? No! I fucking hate him! What is wrong with you?"

"I dunno. Just seemed like it."

"Yeah," Kenny agreed. "When he was a kid, he expressed some gayness when it came to you too, but he's harder to read now. I dunno if he still likes you."

"I don't care if he likes me, then or now or ever!" I snapped, glaring harshly at them. "Fuck Cartman! Let's talk about something else, please!"

The two blonde stoners seemed surprised by my outburst. They were still high, so their faces were blank, but their lips were parted in an expression of slight shock.

Then Kenny grinned and sang, "Kyle's in deniaaaaallll."

"You know what? Fuck this," I growled, standing angrily. I took an extra long drag from the joint and then stubbed it in the ashtray. "Thanks for the weed and pizza. I'm going home."

"Bye, Kyle," Bebe waved at me dismissively, concentrating on her nails. God, they're not _that _fucking interesting! What is with people inspecting their nails?

"Peace, man," Kenny nodded at me. "Catch ya later."

"Bye," I said flatly. I patted my pocket to make sure my phone was there, and then headed for his backdoor. With some effort, because it sort of got stuck, I yanked it open, stepped out into the cold, and let it slam. I sighed loudly and pulled out my phone.

Three miss calls from Mom.

"Fuck," I muttered. I leaned back against the side of Kenny's house and dialed her.

"Kyle? Why didn't you answer my calls?" her screeching voice instantly shrieked in my ear.

I exhaled and said, "My phone was in my pocket on silent."

"Alright, well, your father and I won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. I called Ike, and he said you went your friend's house. You can stay there. I don't want you alone at our house. Ike is with his friend Kelly."

_Who's a girl, I'm sure, but knowing Mom she probably figures it's a boy with a chick's name. _"Okay. I'll go to Stan's."

"Alright. Goodnight, Kyle. Sleep well. I'll see you soon, bubbe. I love you."

"Love you too," I said hurriedly. "Bye."

I hung up, stuffed it in my pocket, and began treading throw the snow to Stan's house, my eyes stinging at the biting wind.

Suddenly, I tripped on a large stone, and face planted in the snow. I lay face down in the snow for a moment before I got up on all fours, trying to spit the snow out of my mouth.

And then, guess who drove by, at that exact moment?

Fucking _Cartman._

"Hey, Jewboy! Whatcha doing on your hands and knees?"_  
_

I turned my head to glare at him as I stood and dusted my knees off. There was wet patches down the front of my jeans, and I sighed as I felt the wetness seep through the fabric and chill my skin. "I tripped."

"Hmm. Didn't know Jew's were clumsy. Learn something new every day, huh?"

I sighed again, much louder this time, and crossed my arms as I looked at him. He'd pulled his mom's grey truck into park beside the sidewalk, and he was leaning over the passenger seat to grin out the open window at me. His brown eyes were sparkling, considerably gorgeous_. _Out of all the kids in school, he definitely has the prettiest eyes. But, as I've said dozens of times before... I hate him.

"I'm not clumsy. I just tripped on a rock."

"Sure, Kahl."

I rolled my eyes and huffed. "Can you go away now, Cartman? No reason to ruin my weekend now when you'll have plenty of time to later. Fuck off."

"Someone's got a little sand-"

"Shut the fuck up and leave me alone!" I shouted loudly, my fists clenching at my sides.

There was a moment of silence and Cartman stared at me blankly, analyzing my face. Then he shrugged and turned his car on. "Whatever, Kahl. See you at skewl on Monday."

I watched as he rolled his window up and then drove off quietly, leaving me alone.

I sighed and shook my head, continuing my journey to Stan's house. When I finally reached it, I knocked on his door six times in quick succession; that meant it was me.

Stan opened the door, smiling halfheartedly at me. "Hey, Kyle."

His voice was hoarse. I watched him as I stepped into his house and removed my jacket. "What's wrong?"

"Wendy."

Of course. What else? "What happened, man?"

"She told me I was boring, and unless I become more lively she's gonna break up with me."

"As in, in your sex life, or just in general?" I asked quietly, because I wasn't sure if his parents were around.

"Both," he said with a frown. "My parents are in their room, too, so you don't need to whisper."

I nodded. "Okay. Uh, can I stay here tonight? My parents are out of town."

"Of course, Kyle. You're always welcome here."

I grinned at him. "That sounded so corny."

"I know," he laughed. He shrugged, smiling in his sheepish way. "Wanna go play video games?"

"You can. I need to finish a book for English. There's five chapters left I have to read."

"That's fine."

I followed him up the stairs.

Our sleepover was uneventful and ordinary. For some reason, I fell asleep at six and woke on his floor the next day. I squinted up at his alarm clock to see it was nine.

When I went down stairs, Randy and Sharon were on the couch, watching TV. I smiled at them. "Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Marsh."

"Morning, Kyle," Sharon nodded at me with a friendly smile.

"Hey, Kyle," Randy greeted, his eyes not leaving the TV as he sipped a soda can.

I sat on the edge of the couch, feeling awkward. "Where's Stan?"

"Meeting with Kenny," Randy informed me, his eyes still focused on what I could now see to be a cooking show.

I held back a snort at this and stood. "I should be going. Thanks for letting me stay."

"Anytime, Kyle. You're never a problem," Sharon offered another smile.

I nodded and left without another word, stepping out the door and checking my phone. Three missed calls- all from Mom- and five messages.

Mom said, **Kyle, you're not answer my calls so I just wanted to tell you we're back. Come home soon, alright?**

I responded, **got it. on my way.**

Kenny had texted me, **yi mun in so fqkcnfg hietgh rrhtg nww.**

**okay then, **I responded, shrugging off his text. It was usual to get random, totally incoherent texts from my blonde friend. I think it says, 'Yo, man, I'm so fucking high right now' but I have no idea.

Cartman had said, **U can cook, right? Cuz i'm not cooking.****  
**

I didn't respond to him at all.

Another one from Ike. **Hey, Kyle. Mom and Dad are home. Just so you know. Guess what? Kelly sucked me off last night ;D**

I gave an exasperated sigh, but forced myself to type back, **niceeee. **

And a final one from Stan. **Sorry i left you. Ken needed a ride. He's wasted at a bar in denver. ttyl.****  
**

**it's okay, stan. hope he didn't do anything stupid. he just sent me a text i can't even read. **

I sighed loudly as I shoved my phone back into my pocket and trudged home.

Funny how my life was so ordinary, even when a major change was coming up in less than forty eight hours.

* * *

A/N: this chapter was boring. but i don't want to rush this. and i don't think it's too slow paced. they'll be stuck together next chapter, and then i decided every five chapters (so five, ten, fifteen, etc) will be in third person pov focused on the other characters. so yeah. heh ken's a retard.

Next Chapter Summary: Kyle deals with being roomies with the fatass, and finds it's actually not that bad.

PS: ALSO, just before I was about to publish this chappie, an anon commented on how cartman will be submissive. hehe this is because i see him as a natural sub, he's just too stubborn to admit it. you know cartman; always worried about looking weak or gay. also, for whatever reason, cartman's always the dominant one in stories. i mean, i can see it, if i squint, but in my world he's a sub. he's just... i guess how he was described in the author's note of one of the chapters in kyle in chains (a brilliant story that i adore, even if cartman is the seme in it). the author (too lazy to look up her name, and i know it, but i don't want to spell it wrong. if you want it, it's in my favorites) said that he was the sexual top, but the emotional bottom. in my eyes, that's so true! he has such girl-like feelings, like how he needs constant attention (something focused on in this story), and how he gets jealous easy, and how easy it is to make him cry (at least on the show). then again, he is a mentally unstable nine year old, but people don't really change _that _much between the ages of nine (on the show) and sixteen (in this story), right? and i just need a goddamn change. i have never seen a multi chapter fic where he's the consistent sub. i'm reading a great cutters/buttman fic where he is (also favorited) and it's great, but kyman is my otp, so i had to make a kyman fic with him as the bottom.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Kyle deals with being roomies with the fatass, and finds it's actually not that bad.

Chapter Warnings: Cussing. Mentioned sexual stuff.

A/N: i'm really nervous about every chapter i put out, because these waters are so unfamiliar to me, but you guys really make me feel better. you write long ass reviews. thanks so much. also, i just wanted to tell y'all about a kyman great story i just finished. it's called 'better left unsung', and it didn't contain any smut (normally a downside for me, being the sick fucker i am), but the utter beauty of it totally makes up for it. it was seriouslah gorgeous. if you haven't already, you gotta go read it right this motherfucking second. after you read this chappie, though, of course. :) heh i'm watching the jeffersons. poor blanket. aw i love nurse kyle being all sweet. and cartman being all gay for mr. jefferson... see, that little fat fuck is so desperate for attention. that's why he's submissive in my mind. so. enjoy. ugh fuck i need to shut the fuck up. wait no that's ignorant...

real fast: theviolin'sangel, thanks SO much omg. i'm really fucking worried about being ooc, because the south park fandom is so new to me, so that boosted my confidence a ton! yeah, i hate when he's a weepy bitch in fics. he hardly ever even cries on the show. a few times, of course, but not often. so i don't get when people make him cry constantly in fics. and yeah, he's definitely not the nicest person in the world. no one is- not even butters. we can't forget when he farted on cartman, flipped him off, and said, 'fuck you' in christian rock hard haha. and yeah ike's mature for his age definitely (that's canon because of ms. teacher bangs a boy haha) but he's still thoroughly adorably, even as a preteen in this hehe.

* * *

The weekend passed with me sitting in my room and blasting various albums of all genres, from a Queen album to a Jay-Z one. No one texted me much. I got various texts from Cartman asking stupid things that I either ignored or responded with a short and/or sarcastic answer. Kenny and Stan texted me occasionally and we exchanged meaningless banter, Kenny's texts normally incoherent. In between texting and listening to music, I did homework. And all the while I thought of Cartman.

I bet the fat fuck was sitting at his desk, thoughtfully staring at the wall as he thought of ways to torture me. I'd have to constantly watch my back, or a knife would surely be buried into it at his hand.

Hmm. That last sentence was strangely poetic.

On Monday morning, I woke to the normal, steady beeping of my alarm. I growled and reached over to press the button and turn it off, and then laid there, gazing at the ceiling. Today was the day. Fuck.

For all I knew, I might not get through the month with my penis still attached.

I gave a loud groan and forced myself to stand, wobbling slightly as a head rush consumed me to the point I had to grip my dresser until it passed. Ugh, I fucking hate head rushes. They're so unnecessary. What's the point to them? Same thing with head aches, but at least they tell you when you're getting sick, or you're stressed and need to chill.

I dressed in a zombie-like way, not really thinking about it. Luckily, I picked out my clothes last night, so I didn't have to go through the trouble of finding a decent outfit. Simple blue jeans, not skinny but not baggy, and a purple t-shirt that read, 'Eat my dust', only 'dust' had been crossed out and replaced with 'nuts' with a fading black sharpie. Kenny's fault entirely. Of course.

I never wore it, in fear of getting dress coded at school, but today I wanted Cartman to see it. It'd be a clear message for him to _fuck off._

I was surprised he just left when I asked him to on Friday. Normally, he'd laugh and hang around a little longer to harass me, but this time was different. Maybe he decided I needed space. Maybe he was feeling merciful. Maybe he was keeping good on our agreement, because, secretly, he was just as scared of me as I was of him. No, not scared, but concerned. Yeah, concerned. I'd never _fear _Cartman, and he'd never f_ear _me.

I zipped up a faded black hoodie over the shirt so my mom wouldn't see it and freak, and firmly stuck my ushanka on top of my evil, red curls, successfully hiding them from view.

With a huge yawn, I stepped into my snow boots and bent to lace them up. Luckily, I'd done it so many times before, my fingers did it mindlessly, and then I was making my way for the bathroom. Sighing, I went through motions of brushing my teeth, washing my face, and taking my insulin- there was a bunch of the medicine in the cabinet beneath my sink. Finally, I went back in my room to retrieve my schoolbag and my other bags and then proceeded down the stairs.

"Wow," Ike drawled from the table as I entered the kitchen. He was sitting, his phone in one hand and a spoon full of Fruit Loops in his other. "You look like _shit."_

"Thanks, dickface," I scowled and flopped down at the table, before adding in a softer voice, "I know. I'm really tired."

"Why?"

"Didn't sleep."

"Ah. Anxious for this month?"

I frowned at him. He was considering me with dark grey eyes trained directly on my face. Ike was very observant, so he could read me- actually, anyone, really- like an open book. To be honest, he learned that from me. I can be naive, but I'm pretty good at reading other people. Totally different story with myself, though. Half the time I can't tell when I'm lonely from when I have to piss.

After a long, awkward pause, I lost our staring contest by blinking and looking away. "Mom told you?"

"Yeah. Isn't Eric Cartman that fat jerk who-"

"Yeah, that's him," I cut in. I pursed my lips. "'Fat jerk' just about sums him up."

"I heard he's bi," Ike's eyebrows wiggled suggestively at me. "And single. And not as fat or jerky anymore."

"Why is everyone trying to play matchmaker for me and the fatass?" I demanded, slamming my hands down on the table. "Jesus Christ, we fucking hate each other! It would never work!"

"Sexual tension," Ike shrugged, taking the final bite of his cereal.

"No. We don't have sexual tension. We do have tension, yeah... lot's of it... but it's far from sexual."

"I think you're in denial."

"What the fuck? Are you, like, conspiring with Kenny? He said exactly the same thing!"

"Maybe because he and I both see the truth?" Ike suggested, his dark brow moving even higher up on his forehead as he lifted his cereal bowl to his lips. He smirked at my frustrated face and sucked down the milk, his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp.

"You don't even understand my relationship with him," I continued to argue, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You've only even met him a handful of times."

"Oh? Now you two have a relationship?" I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off, standing and putting his bowl into the sink. "Just by you arguing with me about this, it gives me plenty of proof. See, here's how I see it. I_ know_ you're gay. I _think_ you have pent up lust for Eric Cartman, _because _you hate him. I _hope_ you act on it. Because, who knows? It could lead to something great."

I watched him give a dismissive shrug and sling his backpack over his shoulder. He gave me a wry smile and saluted me. "Good luck on the battlefield, soldier. Try to come home unscathed. See you around."

And he left. I sat there, lips parted in shock, brows furrowed in indignation, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I shook my head to clear it and took out my phone, only to see a text from Cartman.

**Don't forget your bags, joo.**

**i won't, **I texted back, scowling at the bright little screen, as if I was angered by it and not Cartman. **y r you telling me?**

**Cuz i'm a nice guy. I almost forgot mine, but then i remembered. Didn't wnat you to forget yours.**

**ha! nice guy. ya right.**

**Stop being a pissy bitch. Its only seven am. Be happy, kyleeeeee.**

**fuck you, fatasssss.**

**luv u too :)**

And for a moment, I was stuck staring at that last message. I knew he was being sarcastic. I'd seen thousands of texts, with 'i hate you' from one person and 'love you too' from the next. It didn't mean anything, but suddenly I was struck by what it would mean if it did. Could someone ever love me? Could someone ever love Cartman? Could Cartman ever love me? Could I ever love Cartman?

"Fuck," I moaned. "Too many goddamn, retarded questions."

I stood, gathered my bags, and went out the front door. My stomach growled, but it felt too uneasy to be able to eat, so I didn't even try. I locked the door behind me, suddenly wondering where my parents were as I strolled out and saw our new, shiny, white Hyundai Sonata. Hyundais are really fucking ugly. Did you ever notice? Ours is decent, but in general, they're just fugly ass cars. Anyway, then I shook my head. Didn't matter. Sure, I wouldn't get to say goodbye, but I could always visit to get away from the fatass. And if my parents didn't care enough to see me off, so be it. I didn't care enough to hunt them down.

I struggled to the bus stop, weighed down my many bags. When I finally reached it, huffing and cursing, the other guys were already there. Stan looked curious, Kenny obvious, and Cartman amused.

I frowned at him, panting from all the walking I'd done. "Where's your bags?"

"At home. I'll pick them up later."

"You said-"

"Why'd you bring your bags, Kyle?" Kenny suddenly asked, looking down at them. He was swaying and his eyes were blurry and squinty but not red. I guessed he was hungover.

"Because _Cartman _told me to!" I growled. I faltered slightly when I realized how that came out... like I was _obeying _him, or something scary like that.

"I didn't expect you to actually do it! Damn, Jew's are dumber than I tought!"

I held up my middle finger, my jaw tightening as I sent mental daggers into his soul, puncturing his very being with my intense hatred of him, which happened to be just as sinister as the blade of a knife. Actually, my hatred for him was more like a chainsaw. Automatic, violent, and extreme.

Well _shit_, I could be a goth kid if I wanted to with _that _kind of material.

I faintly realize Cartman was talking to me, his deep brown eyes settled on mine. "...fault that you gotta carry _all_ your shit, _all_ day 'cause you're so gullible!"

"I'm not gullible," I answered, glancing up as the bus approached. "Just a little too trusting at times. Call it a fatal flaw. Least I'm man enough to admit I have one. Unlike you."

I walked away, onto the bus, and left Cartman staring at the back of my head, his brows drawn together in confusion.

_It's fun confusing your enemies, _I thought, unable to hide my smile as I took an empty seat in the center.

Stan slid in next to me, instantly stuffing his hands in his pocket until he dug out his phone. He turned it on, tapped the screen, and grinned widely as the Flappy Bird screen appeared.

"Jesus, dude, why is that game so cool? Ike was playing it too!" I frowned down at the screen as he pressed play and tapped the screen again, sending the bird up a jump with each hit. A small beep hit my ears every time he got through the green pipes. Then he died, and a loud smack could be heard from his phone.

"What'd you get?" Kenny's silky voice asked from behind me, making me jump. He was peeking over the back of the seat to see us.

"Twenty-seven," Stan sighed, holding up his phone for the perverted blonde to see.

Kenny grinned. "You're high score's thirty?"

"Yeah," Stan nodded.

"I don't have it, but I play it on Bebe's phone. Her high score is twenty-nine. Mine's thirty-one."

"Mine's zero!" I piped, frowning at Kenny. "Because I don't play it, because it's stupid and a total waste of time."

"God, you sound like she-hippie," I heard Cartman mutter from behind me. Then, louder, "Only, Windeh actually plays the game! Because it's totally awesome!"

"And kewl?" Kenny asked, glancing back at the fat fuck with a grin as he drew out the 'cool' in a voice only Cartman could execute perfectly. Kenny fell just slightly short, but it was still a good try.

"And kewl," Cartman agreed, totally missing the joke.

I laughed as Stan and Kenny did, and I heard Cartman saying, "Wait, what? What's so funny?"

I shook my head, and jolted as the bus came to a stop at the school. I hadn't even paid attention as we drove, and now Garrison was yelling, "Alright, alright, get out, you little bastards!"

Stan stood and started walking, and I closely followed him. A warm, large body bumped into my back, and I turned to see Cartman scowling at me. I'm half of an inch taller than him- a fact I completely_ love_ pointing out- but he stood a little straighter so he was slightly taller. "Some bitch pushed me."

"Whatever,"I shook my head, looking forward again.

Finally, we were freed from the confines of the bus.

Then the day passed in a blur.

I mean, it was ridiculous. I was just so exhausted, even though I went to bed at nine. In French, when my teacher told me, "Bonjour!" I responded, "No, gracias." She told me 'hello' in French and I fucking told her 'no thank you' in Spanish.

I was normally a good student, so she just chuckled and shook her head. Luckily, she was nice, and didn't write me detention or something like some of my other teachers would have.

Finally, the end of the day came. I peered down at the slip of paper that read the address of the house and turned on the street it was on. Cartman would be running late, because he had to stop by his house for his bags. I'd walked in relative silence with the rest of them until I'd had to take a left turn and they all took a right.

I stared up at the house. 313 Balboa Ave. It was pretty and small. Obviously an old woman's home. The sides of the neat, sky blue house were lined with gorgeous roses, the shudders were neat and clear of spiderwebs, unlike the house next door, and the grass was clean cut and nice looking. Because I could help myself, I opened the gate surrounding the perimeter of the house and crouched to feel the grass. I ran my hand back and forth, enjoying the prickly feeling that lingered on my fingertips, even after I stood and started for the front door.

I slid my key into the lock and twisted until the door opened. I stepped in and blinked until my eyes adjusted to the light.

Wow. It was nice. I walked into the living room and looked around at the flat screen, opposite of two recliners and a love seat. I peeked into a medium sized kitchen and was pleasantly surprised when I opened the fridge to find it stocked. "Killer."

I discovered there was three bedrooms, thank God. If there was only one, I would fucking die. A master that I decided to leave alone, and two smaller, identical ones. Cartman would be pissed if I stole the best room, so I just threw all my shit onto the plain blue comforter of the bed in one of the smaller twin rooms and went to look at the bathrooms. There were two; a luxurious one connected to the master bedroom, and another smaller one just off the living room. That was good. I didn't want to use the shitter after Cartman had. Unfortunately, there's only one shower, in the master bathroom. But that was fine. I would just go first. If Cartman jacked off in the shower or something, I definitely didn't want to be in there after.

Wow. That's a horrifyingly arousing thought.

I shook it from my mind and went to start cooking the macaroni I'd seen in the cupboard earlier.

At five, Cartman finally came.

I flinched as he slam the door, and turned to greet him, my arms crossed and my face twisted into a deep scowl. He strutted into the room, causally throwing his stuff down on the ground and taking a seat. The assfuck didn't even have the fucking decency to look at me!

I cleared my throat, and he still didn't look at me. "Hey, Jew."

"Where the fuck were you?" I said harshly, narrowing my eyes even more.

"Getting food."

"There's plenty of food."

"How?"

"Ross must've stocked it before we came."

"Goddamnit, so I spent hundreds of bucks on food for nothing?"

"Guess so, fatass."

"Fuck! Mmm, what's that smell?"

I choked on a chuckle at his sudden interest in the food. He sat up straighter, craning his neck and trying to see past me. I forced myself to keep the scowl on my face. "Macaroni. I suppose you want some?"

"You know it, Jew! Gimme a full bowl!"

"Serve yourself. I'm not your bitch."

"But you'd like to be."

I frowned at him, and he lifted his eyes to stare at me challengingly, quirking his brow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it."

He stood and pushed past me, loudly searching cabinets until he found the bowls. He took a particularly large one and used a ladle to fill it with the cheesy stuff. By the time he was seated and I was ready to serve myself, there was only a few scoops left. I felt my face heat in anger, but then I reminded myself it normal behavior from the fatass. I should have expected him to eat all the goddamn food so there was none left for me.

As I put the sparse amount into my bowl using the ladle- though it wasn't my ideal utensil to use, I didn't want to dirty more dishes- Cartman gave a surprised, theatrical gasp. "The Jew can cook!"

"No. I can't. But a kindergartner could make mac and cheese."

I took a seat opposite of him, keeping my eyes locked on him. He stared back, munching quietly. He took another bite.

"My room's the one with the bags on the bed. You can have the other one."

"Sure," he said through a mouthful.

"You get to make dinner tomorrow. We'll take turns."

He put up his finger and chewed quicker. I waited impatiently until he swallowed and said, "Taking turns is faggy. We should have specific jobs. You can cook and clean, and I'll eat and dirty."

"You dumbass. We're taking turns, and that's final."

To my surprise, he shrugged and took another spoonful, staring at it and saying, "Sure." He took the bite and glanced up at me again.

This was awkward, but surprisingly we weren't at each other's throats yet. Maybe I will survive.

I thought that until we finished dinner and took respective seats in each recliner. Cartman had the remote, and I gaped as he settled on Jersey Shore. "You are _not_ watching this. _Seriously_?"

"Yes, seriously. I figured you'd like it. You being from Jersey and all," he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye and grinning.

"I'm not from Jersey! I was conceived there, and briefly lived there, _in my mother's womb, _but I never even set foot on Jersey ground!"

"Still, technically, you're from there."

"Whatever. Please change it."

"I kinda like looking at Snooki's tits," he shrugged.

"Even after she raped you?"

His face darkened, but a smirk quirked at his lips. "Never speak of that, Jew."

I couldn't help but let out a airy laugh. "Whatever you say, Cartman."

_Jesus Christ, we're getting along! And laughing! My penis is safe!_

And then I had fuck it up by impulsively asking something.

"So they say you're bi."

Cartman looked at me, his eyes narrowed. "Who's they?"

"Everyone. "

"Well, they're wrong. I'm straight."

"You don't like dick as much as you like tits? I'm surprised, considering how many you had in your mouth when we were younger."

"Shut up. I don't like dicks. I'm straight."

"Or are you just in the closet? Too embarrassed?"

"I'm straight," he gritted, keeping his eyes focused on the TV.

"Whatever," I shrugged. "Although I wouldn't care if you were gay."

"But I'm not!"

"Okay."

There was tension in the air, so I stood. "I'm going to bed."

"Already? It's seven."

"I'm tired," I lied, already headed for my room. "Goodnight."

"Yeah."

_Goddamnit, if I never wake up I'm going to be fucking pissed._

* * *

Next Chapter Summary: Third person POV. Cartman has a heartfelt discussion with Kenny (aw they gonna be lil pussies and discuss their emotions awww c:). Stan tries to impress Wendy but earns some attraction from Bebe instead.

A/N: the house is completely made up. 313 is a reference to the area code of detroit, which is a major place for hip-hop. don't mind me and my weird little obsession with rap. balboa has no reason. i just thought of it. finally, they livin' together! i wrote this between ten and one o' clock so sorry for any mistakes. ahaha i was reading about south park on wikipedia and they described eric like this; "cartman—loud, obnoxious, manipulative, racist and obese—is often portrayed as an antagonist whose anti-semetic attitude has resulted in an ever-progressing rivalry with kyle." ...hehe. anyway, next chappie soon! r&r too, of course!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Summary: Third person POV. Cartman has a heartfelt discussion with Kenny (aw they gonna be lil pussies and discuss their emotions awww c:). Stan tries to impress Wendy but earns some attraction from Bebe instead.

Chapter Warnings: Language. Mentions of sexual... stuff. Drug consumption. Kenny being a perv and Cartman being a dick. Mentions of homosexuality or whatever.

A/N: finally got this out. ugh, i'm sorry. it's kinda everywhere. but whatever. yay longest chappie yet. omg i'm so glad i'm doing their roles good! i'm really stressed about that! i could imagine kyle being like his dad, but my grandpa is 5'6 (always has been) and my dad is 6'2. so he could be tall. honestly, i imagine him tall and lanky. i imagine cartman either short and fat/chubby or medium height and fat/chubby.) and yeah, he could be like his dad, but one of my good friends has a dad who's like seven feet (i swear to god, the guy's a giraffe), and my friend is like 5'7. i'm almost as tall as him lol. he fucking hates it. that's fucking great if it's like watching the show, but i do want to remind you the boys are juniors in high school, and they will be ooc. i thought they already were, but i guess not. score for meh. yeah, i think deep down cartman is truly good. (ahaha i was gonna put he was a sweetheart, but then i erased it, because if i believe that i'm a fucking moron. that asshole is as sweet as my grandma's vagina.) i don't think kyman would be abusive. honestly, i think it would be very loving, they would just constantly fuck with each other, whether it be teasing or embarrassing each other or something, and they'd argue about everything, but i think it would be a functional relationship. i think, because i'm starting to really like ike's character, and so are y'all, i'll make him a more prominent character in this. anyway, in this chappie, a lot of cartman and kenny's conversation was written in novemeber (i know, fucking forever ago) and i just revised a lot so it fit how the story currently is going to be like. it's kinda corny, and, i feel, very ooc, but whatevez. finally, i'm taking the creek out of this story. i'm fine with creek, it's just not my cup of tea, and i want to focus on the four main boys and their relationships, and not so much the other characters'. creek would just be random to have, so i'm taking it out. at least, i won't be focusing on it. it can be in the background though. tons of dialogue in this chapter.. okay, thanks everyone! enjoy.

* * *

Cartman woke up peacefully, the fog of unconsciousness slowly fading from his mind. He refused to open his eyes, even though the irritating light behind his lids was beckoning for him to.

"Cartman!" it sang softly in the voice of a certain Jewish siren. "Wake up, Cartman!"

"Kahl," the pudgy brunette mumbled sleepily.

"Cartman!" the voice echoed, eerily beautiful. "Cartman!"

"Meh," Cartman moaned quietly, gripping his pillow to his chest tighter.

Then his eyes shot open as a voice- definitely not the beautiful one belonging to the siren- screeched, "Cartman! Get the hell up, you stupid, fat fuck!"

Cartman rolled over and squinted at the Jew, who stood in the doorway, hands on his slim hips.

"Get up," Kyle growled menacingly, glowering at him.

"You- you need to take some of those period pills Wendeh takes," Cartman told him in a thin voice, yawning widely. "So you're not so bitchy."

"Get up! You gotta drive me to school!"

"Ey! When did we agree on that?" Cartman snapped, forcing himself to sit up. He rubbed at his eyes and then glared at a blurry Kyle.

"Never, but you have a car, and I don't."

"We're taking the bus."

"Wh- no. We're driving."

"We're taking the bus!"

"We're driving!"

"Why the fuck would we drive?"

"Because I fucking feel like it!"

"How selfish is that?"

"Me? Selfish? You're one to talk, fatass!"

"I'm not selfish! I've saved more lives than Obamacare!"*

"Yeah, and I've sucked more dicks than Mr. Garrison and Mr. Slave combined."

"Damn right you have, you slutty, faggy Jew!"

Kyle rolled his eyes and stomped away, and Cartman grinned widely. He'd definitely won this round.

Cartman ordered himself to get the fuck out of bed. Quietly, to himself, he gave a quiet pep talk as he dressed. "Okay, Eric. New day. Tuesday, to be exact. And you and Kinny have plans. You're gonna ditch and smoke at Stark's Pond. And it's gonna be fun. You just gotta deal with the damn Jew for a few more minutes. Then you're safe with Kinny."

He smirked at his own reflection in the mirror. It was just Kenny, so he wasn't dressed in anything special. He had, however, worn a shirt with a rude slogan as a response to Kyle's shirt yesterday.

The brunette wore tight- well, as tight as he dared without giving himself a noticeable muffin top- black jeans, $200 Jordans (because that's how he motherfucking rolled, and he'd gotten them in good condition from the thrift shop in Denver with Kenny for $25 bucks), and a shirt that showed the silhouettes of two stick figures fucking, and 'Me and your mom every Friday night' written at the top.

Cartman took a quick piss, not bothering to close the door- and faintly hoping Kyle could come up and see his marvelous dick, though he didn't- and then combed his hair out in the bathroom and put a du-rag on- in his mind, so he didn't look like an outsider once he'd entered the ghetto. He brushed his teeth, went back to his room to retrieve a faded grey hoodie, and went downstairs.

"Where's your backpack?" Kyle asked, glancing up with a pissy expression from his phone.

Cartman sat down across from him at the small table. "Upstairs."

"Why the hell do you have a hat? You know the rules, fatass. No hats in school anymore."

"Jesus, you're such a Jew. For one, I'm not fucking going to school, dickwad. Two, bullshit! You and Stan wear yours all the time."

Kyle's hand reached up to touch the green ushanka, and he scowled. "Whatever. Why aren't you going to school?"

"Kinny and me are hanging out today."

Kyle studied Cartman's face for a moment, his lips tightly pressed so they were white instead of their normal pink, and Cartman smirked back. Then the redhead said, "Fine. I'll take the bus."

"Okay."

"Breakfast is in the freezer. Just put some waffles in the toaster."

"I'll eat out with Ken."

"Okay." Kyle stood, picked up his backpack from in front of the fridge, and gave Cartman a scowl. "See you after school, fatass. I'm not covering for you, by the way."

"Like I give a fuck. Have fun at that hell hole, Jew."

Kyle rolled his eyes and stalked out of the kitchen. Ten seconds later, Cartman heard the door slam. He smirked and whipped out his phone.

Kenny had texted him. **wudep man we stll metin up.**

**Yeah,** Cartman responded, his thumbs working to get out the four letters as he stood and made his way to the front door. **Going to the pond now**

Cartman stuffed the phone into his hoodie pocket and then his hands mindlessly dove in after it, and he shuffled to the pond, his feet dragging. He passed the bus stop, where Stan and Kyle chatted quietly, huddled but not too closely for warmth. He smiled brightly at Kyle, who scowled and flipped him off. Cartman saw Stan laugh and wave at him, so he waved back, and then continued to the pond.

Kenny sat on a bench, impatiently clicking a lighter until it lit. He put it to his lips, where a pipe sat, waiting to be ignited. Satisfied, he stuffed the lighter back in his faded orange sweatshirt's front pocket and took a long drag of the pipe that ended with a contented sigh

Cartman took a seat beside him, and used their standard banter for private smoking sessions: "How we doin', po' boy?"

"Smoking that good shit I can't even afford!" Kenny instantly chirped enthusiastically, blurting it mindlessly after three years of saying it. "Life's good, man! How 'bout you?"

"I'm great, but pass that shit and I'll be even better."

Kenny laughed and handed over the pipe.

"What's in here?" Cartman asked, frowning at the crystal chunks.

"Crack."

"Aw, shit, Ken, you know I can't tolerate this shit-" Cartman began, passing it back.

Kenny pushed it back into his hands. "Shut the fuck up and try it."

"I don't take crack well, man. You know that."

"Don't be a pussy. Take a couple 'a hits."

"Goddamnit," Cartman said, but still he obediently took the pipe and took a long drag.

But the truth was, as sad as it may be, that Cartman would take any drugs provided for him. He just really liked not thinking for once, and being high offered him that. He was always thinking, even since he was a toddler. Devising schemes, thinking up new insults, fantasizing about food. Whatever it may be, he was constantly thinking, and sometimes it was nice to just be free of thoughts.

That was why Kenny was such a stoner, Cartman had decided a long time ago. The two were alike in that way. They both thought a lot more then they should. But instead of thinking up plans and meals, Kenny had to figure out how to avoid dying, and what he could feed his family, and how he could get his fix, and how he could pay the bills. It was a lot of stress on the poor blonde.

"It's not bad, but do you have anything else?" Cartman asked after three hits.

"Shrooms that I'm delivering to Clyde later, but there's extra, and he'd never notice."

"We're not doing shrooms again, man. We woke up in our underwear in a gay strip club last time. Next time we'll be naked in bed together."

Kenny huffed. "Shut up. So no shrooms?"

"Nah."

"Okay. I gotta bowl 'a weed."

"Works for me. Strong?"

"You know it."

"Hurry the fuck up then."

Kenny dug in his backpack and came back up with a bowl and a ziplock bag. He handed both to Cartman, who busied himself with preparing the drugs.

"So. Kahl said that everyone says I'm bi," Cartman said casually as he poured the bag's contents into the bowl.

"Bisexual?" Kenny clarified, leaning back into the bench.

"Yeah."

"Well you are, aren't you?"

"I don't know! No!"

"Well, _I'm_ bisexual. I like my girlfriend just a much as I like my boyfriend."

"You got both? Damn! I didn't know that. You fuckin' manwhore."

"Bebe doesn't care. She knows I like her and him both, equally. Honestly, I think she's just with me for the drugs and my cock."

Cartman nodded and took a hit from his now-readied bowl. "That's how all sluts are."

"Yeah. I do like her, though. Anyway, so you're bi?"

"I guess."

Actually, deep down, Cartman knew he was gay. He liked tits plenty, he just wasn't interested in pussy, or the irritating, emotional behavior of females. Wendy was okay- she was plenty bitchy, but it was somehow tolerable. But the point was, Cartman liked dicks, and he knew it. But he wasn't about to admit it, even to his best friend. However, Kenny, ever the observational bastard, already knew it, but refrained from informing Cartman so.

Cartman glanced at Kenny, who was trying to get comfortable in his seat. "How long, Ken?"

"Hmm?" Kenny glanced up. "Oh, since sixth grade. Kyle was sleeping over and changed in front of me- why, I don't remember- and I got all turned on. I mean, girls did that to me before then all the time, but suddenly a dude did, and I realized after some investigating that I like both."

"So Kahl was your first guy crush," Cartman said slowly, frowning at his friend.

"Yeah. But I'm totally over him now."

"Okay," Cartman nodded. He frowned, slightly curious as he realized something. "So. You fuck your boyfriend?"

Kenny didn't look at all ashamed as he answered, "Right."

"Who is it?"

Kenny's dull eyes turned to look at the brunette, narrowed with suspicion. "Why do you care?"

"Just curious. Do I know him?"

"Yeah. You're friends with him."

Cartman eyes widened. "Is it Kahl?"

Kenny snorted. "Fuck no. That fucker wouldn't let someone fuck him if they had a fucking gun pointed at his family. I still think he's gay... but he wouldn't let anyone fuck him. So no. Besides, I told you; I'm over him. I just liked his freckles at the time or something. Now I don't. They look kinda stupid, honestly."

"I have freckles," Cartman said, self-consciously going to touch the few on his nose.

"Yeah, like, three of them. Kyle has, like, hundreds. Bebe has a few too, and so do I, but not a ridiculous amount like Kyle does."

Cartman actually like Kyle's many freckles, but he could see how some people couldn't. He used to fucking hate freckled people, mostly because a large percentage of them were gingers. Shaking his head, he said, "Anyway, who then? Craig? Craig's a fag."

Kenny barked out a laugh, sending smoke in all directions. "No."

"Who then, damnit?"

"Brace yourself, Eric. It's gonna be a mind blower."

"I'm ready, asshole, just tell me who you're fucking."

"Butters."

"I- wait, what?" Cartman's eyes widened. He had not expected that. Butters was much too innocent for... gay sex. He had just fucking started puberty. But Cartman knew better than anyone that Butters was not at all as innocent as he lead people to believe. The brunette chuckled. "How?"

"Kinda started with me raping him. I kinda had a teenage crisis when I was fourteen and I don't really remember but I kinda raped him and then we just bonded."

"You_ kinda _raped him?"

"That's a tale for a different time, my friend."

"Okay... how many times have you and him done it?"

Kenny laughed. "That little fag is good, man."

"How many times have you done it in all?"

"What, fucked someone?"

"Yeah."

"Shit, least fifty times. How 'bout you?"

Cartman smirked. "None of your business, poor boy."

"I answered when you asked, so now you gotta answer me."

Cartman scowled but didn't respond.

"Oh my God. Lemme guess. You're still a virgin."

Cartman shook his head and pressed his lips together.

"You are! Holy shit, man, we needa find someone for you to fuck! You can't graduate this year still a virgin!" Suddenly his voice dropped. "If you need me, man, I'm here."

Cartman finally looked at him, horror on his face. "Ew, you fucking- what the fuck? No! And I'm not a virgin."

"Well, for one, not like that, asshole. I just meant, y'know, I'm your friend. No strings attached. So you could say you did it. But nevermind now, I guess. That's good."

"Yeah."

"But still, I'm here."

"You're a fucking retard."

"It's just a fuck. Nothing more. I'm good, according to my lovers."

"Jesus Christ, no, Kinneh. And, anyway, it has to be special, when you're fucking someone. It can't just be a quick, meaningless fuck. It has to be love, or something."

"Someone's been reading too many teen chick magazines."

"Shut up, dickface!"

Kenny smirked, and the two boys fell silent, staring at the ground and taking small hits off their respective pipe and bowl.

Finally, Cartman said, "What was your first time like?"

"Fucking someone?"

"Uh-huh."

"My very first time?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I was thirteen."

"Day-um!"

"I was ready. It was fine. It was this fifteen year old slut who was visiting her aunt- that old freaky lady on Stan's street with the weird eye. She was visiting her, from California. I don't even remember her name. We ended up fucking on her bedroom floor. It was really meaningless, but special none the less. And that ho had killer titties. She left, like, the next week." Uneasily, he laughed. "I wore my parka the entire time. I had the fucking hood on. She just took off my pants and shit."

"Wow. How about your first gay time?"

"Why would you care about that?"

"I'm fucking curious, damnit!"

"Well, that was when I was fourteen, with Butters. I told you about that."

"So you had a goddamn crush on B-Butters S-Stotch."

"Shut up, Cartman," Kenny laughed at his spot-on imitation, nudging his chubby friend, who grinned. "But yeah, I did. Still do. In fact, we're dating. Just without anyone knowing. Don't you dare fucking tell."

"I won't. I'm not that much of an asshole."

"I'm afraid to inform you that I _completely_ disagree."

"Shut up."

Kenny laughed again. "So how's living with Kyle?"

Cartman stood, folded his legs under him on the bench, and sat on them. It was sort of hard because of his size, but he managed. It made him taller than Kenny, which was the whole purpose, even if his heels digging into the back of his thighs was uncomfortable. He couldn't have Kenny talking down to him. "Eh."

Kenny knew Cartman liked Kyle. He'd known for a long time. He suspected Kyle liked Cartman back, but he couldn't be sure with the reserved redhead. Being Cartman's best friend, he knew him like the back of his hand, but Kyle was different. He was quiet anyway, and it didn't help that Kenny and him weren't particularly close. They smoked together, sure, when Kyle wasn't doing homework, but they'd grown apart a bit. Kyle was so classy and smart, and Kenny was a trashy stoner.

Aloud, to Cartman, Kenny said, "Shitty?"

"Obviously. I'm living with the Jew. Can we not talk about that cock sucker?"

"Sure. Whatever. Hey, y'know, I kind of owe you for me and Butters."

Cartman quirked a brow at the blonde. "How?" He was already thinking of ways he could use this to his advantage. Maybe he could get Kenny to do him a dirty favor or two. Or five.

Kenny knew Cartman would hold owing him against him, but he didn't care. "Remember that time, in seventh grade, when you found out we were doing partner work and bailed after you were paired with Wendy?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Stan was with Butters and I was the odd man out. So the teacher- I don't remember which one- put Stan with Wendy and me with Butters. And we kind of bonded." With an uneasy laugh, he added, "The next year I sorta raped him, and we ended up together."

"Okay... Kinny?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"There's a... person I like," Cartman began slowly, frowning down at his bowl.

"A guy or a chick?"

"A... it's a guy."

"How much do you like 'em? Like, 'I wanna fuck you so hard, all night' like, or 'Damn, baby, that ass is finer than your mom's vagina. Not that I would know. We should go out!'"

Cartman burst into laughter. "Dude!"

"Seriously."

Cartman's laughter ceased and he said,"Fuck you, like."

"Heh. Okay."

"Problem is, the guy's really stubborn. I don't think he'd let me, even if I did get him to like me."

"Would you let him fuck you?"

"Fuck no!"

"Then how do you expect _him_, to let _you_, fuck _him,_ if you wouldn't let _him_, do the same, to _you_?" Kenny gestured with his hand and enunciated each pronoun carefully and paused briefly after them, wanting the words to sink it.

Cartman frowned at his friend, his eyes narrowed slightly, trying to comprehend that. Kenny was smirking and raising a brow at him.

"That'd be humiliating for me," Cartman finally decided to say. "Letting him fuck me. I'm the dominant one, not him."

"Well, maybe, he thinks it'd be embarrassing to let the fatass fuck him, because, in his mind, _he's_ the dominant one."

"He's not dominant. He's a pussy."

"Whatever. You're both virgins, right? As in, you've never had a dick in your ass?"

"No one ever fucked me. Not that anyone ever will. And I think he's a_ total_ virgin."

"So you expect _him_, to trust _you_, to pop _his _little ass-cherry, when _you_ don't trust_ him_ to. Think about it, dude."

"It's not that I don't trust him, damnit! Well, no, I kinda don't. Okay, I really don't. I bet he'd use it against me if I told him anything. He's a sneaky fucker. But, the point is, I'm scared. I have a low pain tolerance, and he's probably big-"

"Just, think about it. Anyway, I have to get home soon, so anything else?"

"Do you think I have any chance with the guy?"

"I dunno him."

"Just, in general. With any guy? Or girl," he added quickly, biting his tongue.

"You gotta tell him your feelings. It may end good, it may end bad. You'll never know unless you tell him."

"I figured that was coming."

"So you're gonna tell him?"

"I'll try to get closer to him, I guess. Then I will."

"Okay. Now I have to go. Karen's having boy trouble and she's probably missing me."

"'Kay. Promise you won't tell anyone abou-"

"'Course, man. You don't say anything, I don't."

"Right. I won't."

"Alright. Nice hat, by the way," Kenny snorted.

"I thought we'd be going into your 'hood, so I wanted to fit in. I ghetto-fied myself."

"Whatever. Peace, man." Kenny grinned and took his bowl back.

"Bye," Cartman said flatly, because the 'peace' reminded him of hippies, and Kenny obviously did it on purpose.

The blonde threw up the symbol over his shoulder and walked away, throwing his backpack on unceremoniously.

Cartman sat a while longer, feeling alone. He was alone. He wanted to tell Kyle, but he obviously couldn't. He was stuck.

"Goddamnit," he muttered, scowling and standing to go. He left Stark's Pond, shuffling through the snow toward his and Kyle's house. After all, he had school tomorrow, and he wanted to get home and rest up for that math test. But he wouldn't study for it. Hell no. The day Eric Cartman studied would be the day hell froze over.

Meanwhile, Stan was frowning at Wendy from his table. He was seated with Kyle, Craig, Clyde, Tweek, Token, Jimmy... the whole lot, to the exception of Kenny and Cartman, who were no doubt skipping. Wendy, Bebe, and all the other girls sat at the table adjacent from Stan's, chatting and giggling and picking at their salads and healthy sandwiches.

Stan was chewing on the inside of his cheek, his eyes flickering as they followed Wendy's movements. Her perfect smile, her cute laugh, her high but clear and strong voice, her long, flowing hair. Even her B-cup boobs. Stan wasn't into boobs much, at least not compared to Kenny, but he did enjoy Wendy's. They were a little small, next to Bebe's C-cups, but Stan liked them just as much.

Kyle's shrill voice shook him out of his reverie. "Stan?"

"S-Sorry," Stan answered, giving a bashful smile. "I was daydreaming."

"Obviously," Clyde said. "We wanted to know what you think about something."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think the boy's locker rooms should be expanded?" Token asked him.

"For more r-room?" Tweek added.

"I don't," Craig said, frowning down at the mashed potatoes on his plate.

"'Cause you're gay, and you like checking our hot bodies out," Clyde laughed.

"No!" Craig protested monotonously, crossing his arms. His grey eyes narrowed at the brunette.

"I've seen you eye the other guys o-one or tw... one or tw... one or t-two times yourself, C-Clyde," Jimmy said, giving him a lopsided grin.

Clyde's cheeks heated and he protested weakly, but the other guys were already laughing, except a cross looking Kyle and a dazed Stan.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," Stan said to his friends and stood once silent chewing had resumed.

"We still need to know your position on the locker rooms," Kyle said. "We want to make a petition to have them upgraded."

"Sure, I'll sign," Stan told him, and hurried off to the bathroom.

Once there, he called up Kenny.

"Hola, senor Stan," Kenny answered after six rings.

"Hey, Ken. Can you talk?"

"Si."

"Could you stop with the Spanish? This is important. Where've you been?"

"You're no fun. Well, I was smoking with Eric, but now I'm in Denver, at Taco Bell. Yum."

"I need help."

"Sure. Come at me."

"'Kay, so, Wendy says I'm boring, so you gotta tell me how not to be, so she doesn't leave me for a more exciting man!"

"Hmm. Well, Bebe was telling me once about how Wendy thinks guys who can do flips are totally cool and shit."

"Flips? As in frontflips? I can do that!"

"Ooh, kill 'em, Stan!"

"Got it! Thanks, Kenny!"

"Anytime. Don't hurt yourself.

"Got it! Bye!"

As soon as he hung up, Kenny frowned down at his phone. "Shit. Maybe it was Red who said that. Or maybe even Bebe herself. Eh, whatever."

"Order twenty-four!" called a Mexican lady at the register.

"Killer!" Kenny grinned, shoved his phone into his back pocket, and ran over to his food.

Stan raced out into the lunchroom and hopped up onto an empty seat at Wendy's table. Everyone was staring at him, and Stan caught Wendy's eye and grinned. He stepped up onto the table itself and took off running for the edge. Then he launched himself into the air and executed a perfect front flip, before landing on his feet. The cafeteria broke into applause, and Stan raised his arms above his head triumphantly.

He glanced behind him, but was disheartened to see Wendy blushing bright pink and shaking her head at him. However, beside her, Bebe was grinning at him. When her and Stan's eyes met, she winked at him.

Stan bit his lip and dashed back over to his table.

"What the hell was that?" Kyle asked him, frowning and tilting his head to the side.

"I dunno," Stan muttered, and stuffed a carrot dipped in ranch from his plate into his mouth. Through it, he said, "A front flip."

"That was weird but cool," Clyde told him. "But chicks like football players, not cheerleaders or gymnasts."

"You're just jealous because you aren't flexible," Token teased, nudging the brunette.

"Why would I want to be flexible?" Clyde asked. "I'm tough, and tough guy's aren't flexible."

Stan huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," Clyde said, looking at Stan briefly before his eyes flickered past him. "Bebe's staring at you like she stares at those expensive new leopard print heels at my store."

Stan turned to see Bebe smirking at him. He gave a small smile back, and she raised her pale eyebrows ever-so-slightly, just enough for Stan to get the hint. He blushed and looked away.

By the time lunch was over, Stan had glanced back at Bebe fourteen times. He'd counted. And she'd catch his eye every time, smiling seductively, and she'd sometimes even blow him a kiss. He couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

Stan was with Wendy, and Bebe was with Kenny. He was in a healthy relationship with Wendy, and as far as he knew, Kenny and Bebe were doing fine too. And he didn't even like Bebe! It was his girlfriend of many year's best friend! As well as his close friend's girlfriend! It couldn't happen!

But Stan had to admit, those C-cups suddenly looked very appealing.

* * *

Next Chapter Summary: Kyle continues to deny any romantic interest in Cartman, but they both begin to fall for each other, and they know it.

A/N: kenny and cartman got a bromance going on...which is gonna escalate later hehe. yay i introduced some bunny. i don't really write it or read it but it seems cute. kenny is a bad boy... juggling two blondes... and poor cartman secretly loves his jew (:o), but his jew is a screeching bitch... okay so i'm aware kenny called cartman 'eric' a lot, but i don't care. they're close in this fic. so. anyway, a contribution to my uke cartman argument, though it's unnecessary: see, it's weird, because if i imagine kyle in, say, panties, i can totally see it. but then i realize i'm imagining the pussy, girly kyle we see all the time in fanfics. then i try to imagine him in panties on the show, and i can't see it. however, with cartman, i already have seen it! he crossdresses all the time! so in my mind, uke cartman is canon. and even if he did grow to be big like his dad, nothing says football player-sized guys can't bottom. they like pleasure just as much as the next midget. but, anyway, it can sometimes be hard to envision, but it's canon nonetheless. we've just all formed the imagine of kickass, big, muscular cartman from all these fics. i don't have anything against that cartman, i just don't think it's realistic. it took me a long time to realize that though. ahaha, y'know, i'm a jew (but i don't really follow it, but i am jewish) and i'm hoarding money in my underwear drawer that no one knows about lolz. i have like a thousand bucks in there. cartman would not like me. omg i'm getting stick of truth behind my parent's backs. so fucking excited. just so you know, if you're getting impatient like i am, the kyman lovin' starts chappie eight. fo' sho. the rating will be changed at 11 or so to M, because there will be smut ^.^ possibly before because their will be other sexual stuff. i also now have good reason to include so many hip hop references in this. i just saw night of the living homeless. they sing tupac! the boys sing tupac! and then butters and notorious b.i.g... trey and matt have at least some knowledge of rap. and the boys are teens in this story. teens who smoke and drink and... they're teens! and i know there's a lot of teens who like emo music (like screamo music and metal and that shit in my mind) or rock and roll, but all the teens i know except a few like rap and pop. the shit on the radio. so yeah.

*I'm not hating on Obamacare. Sure, I don't necessarily like it, but just to clarify, I'm just trying to add some of the controversy of South Park to this.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Summary: Kyle continues to deny any romantic interest in Cartman, but they both begin to fall for each other, and they know it.

Chapter Warnings: Language (as always), homophobic slurs, anti-Semitic remarks, bizarre bonding/teasing/something between the Jew and the Nazi.

A/N: i'm going to attempt to keep this short. let's just say i'm hella excited for the stick of truth, and i got my friend (a dedicated whovian) into it too. we're fangirling over pewdiepie's gameplay of it. hehe. agh they're getting along in this chapter and bonding. aihskjfgs yay. it's sort of a filler, but them getting along is necessary for the story. enjoy.

* * *

When I got "home" from school that odd Monday, Cartman was sitting on one of the recliners, watching E! News and chewing gum. He glanced up at me as I stepped inside, but then looked back at the TV.

"Hey, fatass," I said, throwing my bag down on the loveseat and curling up next to it, my legs tucked behind me. I'm sort of tall, but, thankfully, I'm very skinny, so this was easily achieved.

"Jew," he nodded at me, and then back up at the TV.

"Oh, Jesus, Kimye?" I asked, squinting at Kim Kardashian and Kanye West's pictures on the screen.

"Yeah. You know they had a kid, right?"

"Everyone knows about North West," I told him, rolling my eyes. "She's as famous as Justin Bieber right now."

"Shh! That name shant be spoken in this house!" Cartman barked, glaring at me.

"What? Justin Bieber?"

"Don't say that douchebag's name, or any other faggy pop singers'. Their names are not allowed in my house."

"_Your_ house, Cartman?"

"Yes. My house."

I rolled my eyes and pulled out my English homework- a two page essay, front to back, on Martin Van Buren, the eighth President of the United States. He wasn't even fucking important in history, so why the hell would we have to write about him? I huffed and frowned down at the introduction, which I'd managed to start once I'd finished the quiz in math early.

"Whatcha writing about, Jew?" Cartman asked, leaning over in his seat to frown down at my paper.

"Martin Van Buren," I answered with a scowl.

"Who?"

"The eighth president."

"Never heard of him. I know Washington, Lincoln, Bush, and Obama. That's it."

"Of course that's it," I scoffed.

"I bet you have them all memorized."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

"Such a Jew," he tsked.

"Fuck off, fatass."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you were on your period."

I lifted my middle finger, my inner Craig unleashed, and gathered my books, before storming off to my room. I slammed the door, faintly making out his cry of, "You're cooking tonight, right?" as I did, and plopped down on my bed. I spread out all the supplies I needed, laid on my stomach, and went to work.

About an hour later, as I was finishing up revising the essay and preparing to type it, Cartman knocked on my door. "Jew?"

I didn't answer him, sending a harsh glare at the door.

"Kahl?"

"What, fatass?" I growled, making my voice menacingly low, but loud enough to be heard from the other side of the door.

"Are you making food? I'm hungry."

"Jesus Christ, make it yourself, fatty!" I threw my hands in the air, exasperated, and stood angrily off my bed, which was neatly made and composed of a firm mattress but a soft, velvety comforter. My fists clenched at my side, as they always did when I was mad, and I glared at the door.

There was some annoyed grumbling, and then I heard his heavy footsteps as he walked away and let out a relieved breath as I sat again.

Another hour passed. I'd finished typing the essay on my laptop and copied the document onto my flash drive so I could print it in the library tomorrow, and was now frowning at my science textbook, trying to comprehend the foreign, big words printed. Normally I had a large vocabulary, but these words were all huge and scientific, and they leered at me, mocking my intelligence.

Suddenly I smelled chicken.

I sniffed the air like a dog, my head tilted up and my brow furrowed, and then stood shakily. I stretched my limbs, since they were stiff from sitting so long, and hurried over to the door.

"Fatass?" I called, stepping out and heading into the kitchen.

And there it was. Cartman, in a fucking _apron, _bending over and pulling out a huge chicken out of the oven. It was even _seasoned. _

I gaped at it, and then at Cartman, who at turned to look at me with a cold expression.

"You _cooked_?" I asked in disbelief.

"I was hungry. You wouldn't make food. So I did. Not that you get any."

I snapped out of my shock and quickly retorted, "Not that I want any. It's probably disgusting."

"On the contrary, my dearest Kahl," he smirked, laying the pan on the counter. "I'm an excellent cook."

"Uh-huh," I said doubtfully, frowning at him. He smiled back, leaning back onto the counter with his arms crossed. I cracked a smile. "So what's with the apron?"

Cartman blinked, taken aback, and looked down at it. There was a wrinkled in his forehead, and he looked sort of cute. But, of course, he wasn't cute. Not at all. Because this was Cartman.

Then he looked up and grinned at me with that familiar, toothy smile, and all thoughts of his being cute disappeared as hatred blasted through me at it's highest level.

As if it was nothing, he told me, "I made cookies."

"Cookies. You made _cookies_."

"Yeah, I did." He gestured to another pan by the sink, and, as I pursed my lips at the sight, I saw that there was in fact two dozen of cookies laid out on the cookie sheet.

Cartman lifted them with his oven mitts and pushed the tray into the oven. He closed it, removed his gloves, set the timer, and then smirked proudly at me.

I huffed and sat down at the table, leaning against the wall behind me with my arm draped over the back of the chair.

"So," Cartman said casually as he began to cut into the chicken. I could see hunger on his face, mostly in the way he licked his lips and stared intently down at it. Still, he kept his tone conversational as he continued, "Clyde texted me. What was with Stan today, at lunch?"

"Who knows," I responded dryly, drawing my left leg up and placing my foot on the seat so I could use my knee as an armrest. "I think he was trying to impress Wendy or something, but she looked embarrassed. I don't know what the hell he was doing. He jumped onto her table and did a flip off it, and then everyone started clapping. Stan played if off like it was nothing."

"Anything else interesting?"

"Clyde may be gay. I highly doubt it, but apparently he checks everyone out in the locker rooms. Then again, all guys want to see what other guys are packing so they can compare themselves to them. I guess he could still be gay. But he just seems straight to me."

"You have gaydar?" Cartman asked, glancing back at me.

"Sort of. You read positive."

"You're one to talk, Jewfag," Cartman retorted, stacking his plate high with the seasoned meat. "Fucking Helen Keller would know you're a cock lover."

"Are we really bringing up sexuality again?" I asked, giving him a small smirk. "After the events of last night?"

He huffed and came over to the table. He sat and began to shovel the food in his mouth.

I rolled my eyes and stood, going over to make myself a plate. Cartman made a grunting sound of annoyance and protest with his mouth full, but I retrieved a plate and filled my plate with meat anyway.

"You're allowed to eat that?" he asked when I sat again, his mouth momentarily empty.

"Doesn't matter," I shrugged, cutting a small piece and setting it gently on my tongue.

"God, you eat like you're having dinner with the Queen or something. Eat like a fucking man, Kahl!"

"How would eating like a man be? Like how you're inhaling your food?"

"Yeah."

"Nah, how your eating isn't eating like a man. It's eating like a fatass."

He gaped briefly in disbelief, and I grinned. My smile widened when he stuck up his middle finger and spat, "Fuck you, Jew!"

I snickered and took a bite. Since I'd been occupied with arguing with Cartman, I hadn't gotten to really taste the food. Now I could, and I had to admit, it was pretty good. I quickly devoured it all, and when I finished and glanced up, I saw Cartman calmly watching me.

I blinked at him. "What?"

"You sure liked that ham."

"I don't eat it much."

"Or my cooking is just fucking fantastic. Admit it, Kahl. I'm a great cook."

"I've only had one meal by you."

"Then try a cookie, once they're ready."

"I'm sure they're poisoned," I said coolly, narrowing my eyes at him.

He kept his face blank. "You didn't think the ham would be?"

"You were already eating it. Try a cookie, and I'll try one too."

"Okay," Cartman shrugged.

I knew the cookies weren't poisoned, but I wanted to play with his mind. He always did it to me, so who said I couldn't fight back?

He started to stand, but I stood, reached across the table, and pushed him back down with a shove to his chest, which, I noted with satisfaction, wasn't very muscular. I definitely felt man boobs under there.

"I'll pick the one you're eating," I told him, looking down at him.

His naturally wide brown eyes met mine, and I swear to God, I felt a spark. We held each other's gazes for a drawn out eight seconds, and then he glanced to the ground, a light blush on his round cheeks, and I smirked. I'd won the staring contest.

I lifted my hand off his chest and strolled over to the oven. I checked the oven. "Damnit, eight minutes. And they need to cool."

Cartman brushed some hair out of his face, scowling up at it. I snickered as he kept pushing it back repeatedly, but the piece insisted on falling into his eyes. Then he pinched it between his fingers and frowned at me. "Be right back. I'm gonna get some gel for my damn hair."

"You do that," I said, and then watched him stand and walk away. When we were younger, he waddled, but now he kind of does this odd mix between a stride and a shuffle. He drags his feet, but takes large steps at the same time.

It's interesting how dumb I am, describing my mortal enemies' footsteps. I mean, who cares how the fatass walks?

I played Angry Birds for the next eight minutes. I know, totally 2011, but whatever. It was better than resorting to Flappy Bird. At least it kind of required using your brain.

When the timer beeped, I leaped up, turned off my phone, shoved it into my pocket, and ran over to the oven. I opened it, put on the mitts that Cartman had used, pulled the tray out, and placed it on the counter, all while whistling some rap song Kenny had been blasting from his old stereo the other day.

"You should be wearing the apron."

I turned to see Cartman standing in the doorway, his hair now spiked up into somewhat of a mohawk. He gestured to the apron thrown unceremoniously on the counter with a hint of a grin.

I laughed and waved him off. "Fuck off, fatass, and try a cookie."

"Okay. How long have they been out?"

"Not long. Gotta wait for a bit."

"Kewl."

He took a seat and whipped out his phone, and his finger began to fly over the screen, so I figured he was texting. I took a seat myself and watched him.

Cartman glanced up after two minutes. "What, Jew?"

"Who ya texting?" I asked casually.

"Kinny. Duh."

"What's he saying?"

"Some shit about Bebe in a thong."

He held up his phone towards me and I squinted and read:

**heh i gt the bes in a tong.**

**Bebe? In a thong?**

**yeh. hr ass ie aq goed aq a bleck betces.**

**U need to work on spellin better p****oor boy. I dont even kno what the hell u just said. Srsly.**

Just then, an text came in. A loud beep announced it, and Cartman turned his phone back towards him, smirked, and showed me again.

**HLY SHT MQN SE STRPN GTG BY TYL**

"What the hell does that say?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I think she's stripping," Cartman said, pulling his phone into his chest and looking down at it, his fingers flying again. "I told him to have fun and to use protection."

"Imagine if he got her pregant," I snorted. "Shit, the day Kenny becomes a dad is the day-"

"Is the day Butters fucks a bitch," Cartman finished.

"I was gonna say, 'is the day hell freezes over,' but sure, that works too."

We shared a brief, tiny smile, and then I shattered the tiny blossom of friendship by looking away and saying, "Time to test those possibly poisoned cookies on you, fatass."

"Come at me, Jew. I bet they're delicious, and completely non-poisoned."

"Let's see."

I stood and went over the tray. I selected a big, round cookie in the middle and went back to Cartman. He reached for it, but I pulled my hand away from his and tsked. "Ah ah ah, Cartman. I don't know if you're gonna cheat somehow."

"So, what, you're gonna fucking feed me?"

"Exactly."

"Jew, this is retarded! What the hell? None of them are even poisoned."

"I know, but I want you to eat the cookie."

He frowned at me, but then looked up at the ceiling and exhaled. Then he opened his mouth, not making eye contact with me.

I grinned widely and pushed it into his mouth, cooing, "Open the tunnel for the choo-choo train!"

Cartman's eyes snapped to my face and they narrowed, but he chewed obediently when I instructed him to.

When he swallowed the last bit he shook his head at me. "See, dumbass, they're not poisoned."

I laughed and went to get one, or five, for myself.

I grabbed a handful and then sat, and as soon as I did I realized. _I just fucking hand __fed Eric Cartman. What the __fuck just happened?_

He was playing it off like nothing happened, looking down his phone and smirking occasionally. As if I didn't just feed him. It was the weirdest and randomest thing ever.

"What're you doing?" I asked after a moment, biting my lip and staring at him.

"Jeez, Jew, why so interested in my shit all of a sudden?" He asked, looking up at me. I gulped, because he almost looked... dare I say it? _Flirtatious._ He hadn't lifted his head to look at me so he was peering up at me, and he wore the slightest smirk. As if he was teasing me, like the cheerleaders do to the jocks in movies.

I'm not a jock, and Cartman's most definitely not a cheerleader.

"I'm curious," I answered, regarding him with what I was sure to keep a cold expression.

"If you must know, I'm on Instagram."

I barked out a laugh and shook my head at him. "You have an Instagram account? Weak, dude. I bet you take selfies all the time. Instagram is for self-absorbed chicks."

His lips parted in surprise at my mocking words, but then he snapped, "For your information, I don't post pictures. I just like them and look at them. Wendy made me make one."

"Lemme see your account."

Cartman stuck his tongue out at me, but turned his phone around.

I briefly gaped at the sight. His profile picture was him and Wendy smiling at the camera, both throwing up a peace sign. It was sort of cute, being it was _Cartman _and _Wendy. _His name was 'bitch_im_eric_cartman' (no surprise there), but the part that shocked me was he had 814 followers.

"What, Kahl? Shocked by my many fans?"

I was at a loss for words. Then I snatched the phone out of his hand and frowned down intently at it. He followed 69 people- Kenny probably put him up to that- and he had hundreds of posts. And though I was extremely curious to see the shit he posted, I clicked the followers box. As I scrolled through, I realized I knew many of the kids from school, but there was also tons of other people here.

"What the fuck, dude?" I asked, going to his home page. Tons of images his followers had posted popped up, and I burst out laughing at one by Bebe. It was Kenny hanging off a couch, his hair touching the floor, as he grinned up at the photographer, no doubt Bebe. However, the funny part was he was shirtless, and he had whip cream all over his torso and neck. The description said, **Luv u Kenny! **and it had twenty six likers, though it was posted twenty minutes ago. One of those likers was Cartman, and he had also commented._  
_

I read it aloud. "'Whatcha gonna do with the whipped cream, ho? Lick it off him? Lol_ winky face_?' Dude, are you gay or _are you gay_?"

"Shut up, Kahl!"

I kept scrolling down until I came across a picture from yesterday, posted by Cartman. It was of me, looking pissed, on the couch. The description said, **the jew and i's first day stuck together. he's already pissed off. **And it had sixty likers.

"What the fuck?" I shrilled. I waved the phone madly. "Dude, you can't just put pictures of me out there for the world to see!"

"Why, Kahl? Worried the cops may see you and send you back to the concentration camp you're from?"

"Fuck you! I'm deleting this shit right now!"

"No!"

He stood with the loud screech of the chair scraping the tiles and reached across the table. He snatched the phone from my hands and sat again, glowering at me. "Damn Jew."

"Fuck you," I said tersely. "Gimme the phone."

"No."

"I wanna see Butters' account!"

"How do you know he has an Insta?"

"Because he's fucking Butters."

Cartman rolled his eyes, but clicked something and then handed me his phone. I smirked; Butters' profile picture was him grinning at the camera and hanging upside down from a horizontal pole of some kind, his hair hanging down. He had three hundred followers, and he followed four hundred. I scrolled down and clicked the a random post from several months ago, and gaped. "What the hell?"

Butters and a tall, young guy I didn't recognize, cuddling on a bed in a sitting position and smiling at the camera. Butters was seated in the unfamiliar brunette's lap. The guy was kissing Butters' cheek, but still looking at the camera out of the side of his deep green eyes and smiling. Butters was gushing. The description read, _omg my cousin's boyfriend is sooo cute!_

"What?" Cartman asked. He stood and went around the table to look, and then guffawed. "Oh, yeah, that?"

"What the fuck? His cousin's boyfriend is_ sooo_ cute?"

"Butters is a little twink," Cartman said casually, shrugging like it was a fact.

I frowned up at him. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a fag that's all girly and shit."

"How do you know that?"

"Common knowledge," Cartman shrugged again, and went into the living room.

I wandered after him, my eyes glued to the screen, and sat on the loveseat, with him beside me. He glanced at me, but I was sure to keep my eyes on his phone- though I was secretly watching him. Then he bit his lip and looked at the TV, which he unpaused.

"Aw shit, Miley gave Clinton a BJ on stage!" Cartman began to laugh, and I winced at the familiar, nasally cackle.

"I'm not even gonna ask," I said, my voice rising to be heard above his obnoxious giggling.

"She's fucking insane," he shook his head, a smirk playing at his lips. "And she doesn't even have an ass or boobs, but she thinks she's hot."

"She scares me," I commented, now searching Wendy's page. Tons of selfies, several pictures with Stan, and quite a few goofy pics with her friends, including Cartman. "You sure do take a lot of selfies for a straight guy, man."

"Are you on my profile?"

"Nah, Wendy's. Why?"

"No reason. Can I have my phone back now?"

"What other guys have Instagrams?"

"Hmm. Craig, Token, Jimmy, Stan, Clyde... everyone. Except Kenny. He can't afford a smart phone, and you need one to have an Insta."

"I may make one," I mused, now scrolling through Jimmy's posts. Most were videos, but I looked at the pictures. Very few selfies, lots of memes. "Just to stalk people."

"People can be entertaining," he agreed. He extended his hand towards me, and I huffed, but placed the device in his palm. "Thank you, Kahl," he told me, smiling sweetly and instantly beginning to text.

I got out my own phone and occupied myself with the puzzling game Unroll Me.

It was silent besides the gossiping of the TV, until the fatass decided to go at it and occupy himself with bugging me. I knew the silent truce wouldn't last.

"Y'know, this is actually kind of nice," Cartman commented, sitting back and throwing his feet up on the coffee table. "My own apartment, except with an annoying roommate."

I met his nonchalant gaze and scowled. "Shut up, fatass. Like I wanna be here with you."

"I don't snore, so what's the problem?" he asked, his tone suggesting he was oblivious and offended by my statement.

And it began again.

"You're a dick!" I told him harshly, my fists clenching at my side.

"Least I'm not Jewish."

"For the seven hundredth time, stop insulting my religion."

"Alright, fine. At least I'm not a ginger."

"You're half-ginger."

"But my hair isn't red, so you'd never even know."

"But_ I_ know."

"Whatever, Jew."

We held each other's gazes for a moment, and since we were sitting next to each other, the close proximity was heating my body.

Then he offered a slight smirk as I shifted uncomfortably but still didn't drop my gaze, and I suddenly had the urge to kiss him. To smash my lips against those grinning ones, and to force him onto his back, and to make him submit to me. Make him respect _my _authority. I wanted to control and own the fatass who had bullied me all my life. But it wasn't just the need to dominate him... I _wanted _him.

His face suddenly became blank, the light dying from his caramel eyes and the smile fading off of his lips until it had transformed back into it's natural pout, so I couldn't tell if he felt the same. I couldn't tell anything. I felt like a confused, teenage chick from the movies right now. _So fucking confused... can't even think..._

My lips parted and my breath quickened. I wanted to lean in and kiss him. That was so fucking terrifying.

Why was this so fucking weird, and complicated? It was so cliche... it was so retarded... it was so perfect...

Then I saw him exhale through his mouth, some of the warm air hitting my face and making me shiver, and then he closed his eyes and leaned in.

Then my body decided to develop a mind of it's own. And not in a good way, or at least in a way you were thinking. No, I didn't get a boner. I shoved him away, jumped off the couch, and ran into my room, unable to even think clearly. My face was hot with embarrassment and shame, and I slammed the door shut and locked it in one swift movement, and then collapsed on my bed. I'd left my phone on the couch, but I could care less.

_I'm fucking going crazy._

* * *

Next Chapter Summary: Kyle and Cartman begin to develop some sort of a relationship.

A/N:because cartman would totally be an avid instagramer. so would butters. i've recently become obsessed with it myself (i'm not about to give out my username though) and this is the product of that obsession. i know that last bit was cliche and weird and shit, but whatever. meh. OMG KENNY'S TITTIES. ok bye.


	7. Chapter 7

Real quick, just so you know, I changed the title of this. If you're curious why, you can read my explanation in the now-edited first author's note on the first chapter. Also, I got confused with the summaries and messed up some stuff, so I went back and edited it. Hope it's good now.

Chapter Summary: Kyle and Cartman begin to develop some sort of a relationship.

Chapter Warnings: Cussing, mentions of sexual stuff,

A/N: the game is perfect. i can't count how many times i've caressed my laptop (i got the pc version) screen and whimpered at it's perfectness (don't fucking judge me asshole). that's all i'm gonna say- it's perfect. i just- i don't know who the hell i'm gonna choose when the time comes to pick between the elves and the humans. i think i'll go with cartman... i just love that dickhole so much. i feel horrible though, because i also love kyle... but elves are faggy as fuck... anyway, i'm actually liking the pace i'm getting chappies out on this. but this chapter was hard to write for some reason. but here it is. enjoy.

* * *

I ended up passing out on my bed an hour later. I heard the TV shut off just five minutes after I left and there was a long silence while I flipped through an old Playboy that Kenny had gave me. I focused on every picture, analyzing every nearly naked body, but I just wasn't interested in the anatomy of a woman. I didn't even want to think about that though. But my phone was out on the couch, so I couldn't play on it. Either Cartman had looked through everything on it, or he'd decided to be nice for once and not mess with it. More likely, though, if he didn't look through it, it just sunk between the couch cushions and he didn't realize it was there. I quickly fell asleep, tired and extremely confused.

I woke up to Cartman knocking hesitantly at the door and whispering loudly, "Jew? Jew! Time to get up! It's seven!"

I groaned and sarcastically called out, "Thanks, fatass!"

"No problem, kike!" he answered, and then I heard angry footsteps stomp away. I sighed and forced myself to sit up, and then stripped out of my clothes and replaced them with a plain, faded yellow t-shirt and classic blue jeans. I slid my Vans on and then tugged a grey hoodie and my ushanka on, and then left the somewhat safety of my room and went to the bathroom. I peed and brushed my teeth, and then went into the kitchen and prepared myself some waffles. I was eating quietly at the table when the fatass decided to show himself.

Cartman walked in, and I surveyed him with a raised eyebrow. He looked... like one of those 'YOLO' dumbasses. Jordans on his feet, a baseball hat reading 'OBEY' on his head with a bit of his brown hair sticking out, black sunglasses on his eyes, a black California Republic sweatshirt, and skinny jeans he was fucking _sagging_.

His ears had two sparkly stud earrings in them. Him and Kenny got their ears pierced in seventh grade, and Cartman made sure to always wear his diamond studs. I know they're real, and I think they're meant to flaunt his 'wealth' or something, even though he's relatively broke.

He smirked at me cockily, as if daring me to comment. Of course, I did.

"Jesus, you look like you got bitten by a swagpire and turned into one," I scoffed at him.

"Shut the fuck up," he rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorway.

"Or a swaggot fucked you and gave you STS- Sexual Transmitted Swagfagitis," I laughed at my lame joke.

"You're just jealous because I'm sexy enough to pull this off, and you're not."

"You look like an idiot."

"Shut up!"

I laughed and shook my head. "So, are you going to school today?"

"I guess. Kenny said we can smoke after school. Bebe and Wendy are going shopping."

I noticed his voice was a bit raspy and weak, and frowned at him. "You okay, dude?"

"My throat hurts a little. I'm fine."

"You gonna eat?"

"I'll pass."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "The town's fatass, passing up _food_?"

"I'm not hungry," he shrugged. "And I'm not fat. Anymore, at least."

"Yeah you are. It's just not in your face as much."

"Yeah, it's more in my thighs and ass."

"Totally."

We shared a smirk, and I felt a stirring in my chest. But then the tension returned, as it always seemed to do, with him saying, "Your phone's on the couch. I looked through it a minute, but then it died."

"I'll charge in it your car. You are driving me today, right?"

"Whatever."

I was surprised by his lack of protest on the matter, but shrugged and stood to put my plate in the sink. Then I turned back towards him. "So where are you and Kenny going after school?"

"I said he could come here."

"You two aren't getting high here!"

"Why not, Kahl?"

"Obvious reasons, Cartman! You guys can't smoke in my... our house. That's final."

"Whatever. Jesus, you have such a tight ass. Fuckin' seriously."

"Get your backpack and let's go," I growled, shoving past him and lifting my own bag off the couch. I snatched up my phone from the coffee table and then waited by the door, impatiently tapping my foot, while he went to his room, retrieved his pack, and returned.

I opened the door and stomped down the three stairs leading up to the door. "Lock it behind you, fatass!"

He gave an annoyed sounding hum to inform me that he would, and then I heard the door slam and some keys jiggle. I waited by his truck, and then he approached and clicked a button on his keys. His car beeped, and I tugged on the door. It opened easily, so I clambered into the passenger's seat. I plugged my phone into the charger and then sat back and leaned my head back against the headrest.

Cartman got in and turned the engine on. It roared to life, and I sniffed distastefully. "It's so loud."

"Deal with it, Jew."

"You could get a smaller, nicer car, y'know. One that doesn't harm the environment."

"Jesus Christ, Jew, next thing you know you're gonna be spouting shit about saving the trees and raising breast cancer awareness."

"Smart cars are a lot less... less retarded now."

"Never. I would rather die than own a one of those faggy hybrids."

I huffed and crossed my arms. "Whatever."

We drove in silence, until we reached the school. He glanced at me with a cocky smile as he parked in the area designated for students, and I frowned at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

I blinked at him, trying to decipher him. "Are you thinking something funny or perverted or something?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"I'm getting out now, before you decide to share."

"Okay."

I opened the door carefully, so I wouldn't hit the SUV beside us, and slid out of the car. With one last scowl towards the fatass, I slammed the door and speed-walked towards the campus, so he wouldn't have the chance to catch up with me.

I found Stan and Kenny mindlessly chatting as they walked up to the school, just entering the parking lot. I stopped and tapped my foot impatiently, deciding to wait for them. I threw a glance over my shoulder, but Cartman was just getting out of his car, his eyes glued to his phone, even as hauled his backpack out. He was just like any other teenager- his life revolves around that iPhone.

"Hey, Kyle," Stan greeted me as they finally approached.

"Glad to see you're still alive," Kenny said, smirking coolly at me. He's such a chill guy. I hardly ever see him sad. Most of the time, he's happy, smug, or, though not often, annoyed. "I was sure Cartman killed you by now."

"I doubt he'll kill me," I answered, my tone flat. "More likely, he'll push me to killing myself."

"That's probably his plan," my blonde friend shrugged, his voice sounding nonchalant and bored. "So you'll die, ridding him of the burden of his worst enemy, but he won't be charged for murder. Knowing Cartman, that will probably bring joy to his disturbed, dark heart, for somewhat being the cause of the bane of his existence's death, but not being so directly to blame that he'll be punished."

"Well then," Stan said, giving Kenny a bewildered, sideways glance.

"Thanks, Kenny," I huffed, irritated by his brutal honesty.

"Hey, fags," a fourth, familiar, horrible voice said, his tone light and almost friendly.

"Goddamnit," I growled under my breath as Cartman came up behind me.

"Hey... Cartman," Stan said slowly, assessing him. "...Dude, what the hell are you wearing?"

I barked out a laugh, and Cartman glared at me. I smiled back, still giggling.

To Stan, the fatass responded, "Clothes from the mall. Wendy's doing."

"She doesn't make me dress like that," Stan snorted.

"Shut up, you fucking hippie."

"Hey," Kenny cut in, grinning widely, revealing his teeth. They're perfect on the top, save for a missing canine, and then two tweaked teeth on the bottom. "Did you guys see that Shakira and Rihanna video?"

"That 'Hips Don't Lie' girl?" Stan asked.

"Duh, dumbass," Cartman rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows Shakira."

I actually didn't, but I decided not to say that. However, I do know Rihanna, but I'm not a major fan. She is plenty talented, I guess, but I'm not into pop music.

"Anyway, so they did this song together, and the video is the fucking _best_," Kenny babbled with a stupid grin. "Basically, they just twerked and danced and groped each other, and it was _so fucking sexy. _They both have killer asses. It was beautiful."

"Rihanna's great," Cartman stated, like his word was law, and it was a fact, not his opinion. "But she's black."

"Dude, really?" Stan shook his head at Cartman, his expression faintly disgusted. "You're so fucking racist."

"She's not black," Kenny frowned. "She's Barbadian. Or something."

"Whatever," Cartman scoffed, but he seemed distracted.

I focused on him, awed by how stoic he was. Almost like Craig. His face was blank, his eyes dull and focused on the ground. His lips were parted, giving him a thoughtful, almost sad looking expression. His hands were stuffed in his pockets. Suddenly, his brows drew together, and he looked conflicted. His gaze shifted up from the ground to the sky.

Apparently, Kenny was watching him too, because he cooed in baby talk, "Aw, someone looks sad! Does wittle Cartman need a hug?"

The blonde wrapped his arms around and latched onto the fatass, squeezing him tight, and Cartman choked out, "Hey! Get the fuck off me, Keeny!"

Kenny giggled as Cartman tried to pry him off.

"Kenny, stop getting gay with Cartman," a familiar, feminine voice ordered from behind me. Without looking back, I recognized it at Bebe's. She came up beside me. Wendy was with her.

Stan's girlfriend smiled and nudged her best friend. "Uh oh, Bebe; looks like your boyfriend's cheating on you."

"Get off him, man," Stan laughed, prodding Kenny's arm.

"Yeah, seriously," Cartman gasped. "You're hurting me."

Kenny finally released him, and Cartman wheezed and coughed.

"Damn," he finally managed after a moment, still panting. "You're strong for a malnourished little bitch."

"I'm taller than you, dipshit," Kenny rolled his eyes, his grin crooked.

"Barely," Cartman scoffed. "By, like, half an inch."

"Still taller," Kenny shrugged, his lips quirked in a cute smirk.

Bebe grabbed his hand, said goodbye to us, and walked off, a blabbering Kenny in tow.

"So, I was just telling the guys," I heard him say. "Did you see that Rihanna and Shakira video? Asses galore!"

"I saw it," Bebe responded, her tone clipped but conversational. "My ass should be the only one you're interested in."

"I love your ass! But that video was orgasmic."

"Sometimes you disgust me, Kenny."

They walked out of my earshot, and Stan's voice brought my attention back to him. "So. Are you guys getting along?"

"No," Cartman snorted. "What, did you expect we'd be best friends?"

"Well, no," Stan said, tilting his head up so he stared down at Cartman in his attempt at condescending. He defended himself in a cool voice. "I just... expected _something_ to change."

"Exactly," Wendy said, now standing close to him. "Living together is pretty big. I expected you two to become a little closer, and your arguing to not be as heated. Though you _are_ acting weird."

"We're not acting weird," Cartman said firmly, a little too quickly.

"_You_ kinda are," Stan said, frowning and observing Cartman's face with a raised brow. "And you're blushing."

I looked at Cartman, and I realized he was. There was the faintest pink tinge spreading across his cheeks. His eyes were wide and wary. He looked defensive.

I couldn't help but let an amused grin appear on my face as he opened his mouth and briefly stammered, his eyes flickering to each of our faces.

Finally, he said, "God, fuck off."

Stan laughed and said, "Wen and I are going to the gym. We have a game today."

"Good luck," I told them, offering both of them a more sincere smile. "I can't make it. I have to babysit Cartman and Kenny, who are_ apparently_ planning to smoke at our place."

"You don't have to fucking supervise us, Jew," Cartman said harshly, his eyes narrowed at me.

"Eric, are you on your period?" Wendy asked, her tone light and teasing. "I can loan you some of my tampons if you need them. Us girls look out for each other."

Stan blew a raspberry and then staring cracking up. I myself let out a short laugh that quickly morphed into unabashed giggles. Wendy's normally pretty straight forward, and all-business, but sometimes she can be hilarious.

"I don't need your tampons, Wendeh," Cartman growled. He crossed his arms over his chest. "God, why is everyone being a dick to me today?"

"I can loan you some of the pills I take, too," Wendy offered kindly, managing to look genuinely concerned and sympathetic, despite Stan and I's laughing. "They can help with the PMSing. Trust me on that. I'm almost as bad as you when I'm on my period."

"Stop! Seriously, what the fuck, Wendeh? I'm not on my period. I'm_ physically incapable_ of being on my period. In case you're unaware, I don't have a vagina."

Giving Stan a nudge, Wendy whispered loudly to him, "He's trying to deny it, because he's embarrassed. But notice his stance and body language; he's getting pissy. Just another side effect of PMSing."

"Screw you guys," Cartman said.

"You're going home?" I asked, grinning at him and raising a brow, and chuckling simultaneously.

"Seriously, fuck you," he said, and walked away with a sour look on his face. He disappeared into the crowds of kids, and finally Wendy burst into laughter.

"That was great, babe," Stan snickered as she leaned onto him, wiping her tears of mirth away. "You got him good."

_I wonder what it would be like for someone to call me babe, _I thought, and then scowled. _No, fuck that. _

"Sometimes I seriously think he has a vajayjay down there," Wendy commented, and the absurdity of her saying 'vajayjay' sends me right back into hysterics.

That day wasn't interesting, until the end. Cartman, Kenny, and I all piled in the fatass' car, Kenny sitting in the back, but without a seat belt. He leaned forward between our seats and rested his elbows on the center console, his hands cupping his face. He was trying to convince me to do harder drugs than I'm used to with them.

"Look," I said, frowning down at him. "I'll smoke occasionally. I'm not straight edge or anything. But I'm not gonna fucking snort coke. I bet you don't even know where that shit came from!"

"Maybe not," Kenny said, grinning up at me through his bangs. "But I guarantee it's still good. Craig never sells me bad shit."

"Whatever. Either way, I'm not joining you fucktards."

"You know you want to," Kenny purred.

"No."

"Loosen up, Kahl," Cartman finally spoke for the first time the whole drive.

"Whatever," I huffed.

I glanced at him, and saw him staring out of the corner of his eye at me. Just to confuse him, I shot him a bright smile. To my amusement, he did seem a bit flustered, but gave me a small smile back. He shifted in his seat and focused back on the drive, and I couldn't help but lick my lips to try to hide my smile.

I faintly heard a short chuckle and some muttering from behind me, but ignored it.

* * *

Next Chapter Summary: Kyle swallows his fear and makes a move on Cartman, but is promptly rejected.

A/N: eric would be a swagfag. you know he would. ahahah. that was sort of inspired by a fanart picture i saw of the boys, all swagged out. lolz. and that rihanna and shakira song reference... that was just 'cause i saw the video and was like, 'jesus christ did i just watch a lesbo porno'? there was so much ass... and touching... terrifying for a straight girl. but i guarantee kenny would love it, so yeah. ehh. i finally figured out my view on this, and how i'm gonna write this. because cartman totally submitting to kyle would be extremely occ and unrealistic and shtuff. my thing on it is that cartman could switch, but kyle would refuse to submit, especially to cartman. that'll be a huge thing in this- kyle refusing to bottom, and cartman deciding it's a trust thing, and kyle's just using him, and, y'know. drama. OMG I MUST ADD THAT I'M JUST NOW WATCHING CARTOON WARS AND OMG KYLE AND IKE DYING AND OMG I'M CRYING SO HARD RIGHT NOW WAHHHHH. okay. i'm kewl. ahhh kyle's so concerned for ike it's adorable. and cartman and kyle teaming up, even if they fight later. ahhh they smile at each other ahhhh and cartman hardly even hesitates to trust kahl ahhhh. ok i'm done. seriously. also, maybe most of these chappies are fillers, but, hey? most of life is just a filler chapter.


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